Wishes and Nightmares
by JustSaraNoH
Summary: The men in Natasha's life help her deal with the greatest challenge she could ever face.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES:** This is a plot bunny I was sidelined with last week. It came into my head and refused to be ignored. I tried to tell it that I had a full-time internship, school four nights a week, and two other stories to deal with. It laughed in my face.

Thus, I wrote about four thousand words in one day last week, because this idea is a personal challenge to myself to write something that doesn't get cheesy. You'll understand by the end of this chapter what I mean.

Thanks, **KrisEleven**, for being my sounding board.

**Disclaimer:** I own next to nothing, these people aren't my creations, don't sue.

* * *

It happened on their designated movie night. One minute they're all sitting there watching _Tommy Boy_, the next Loki is standing in the center of the ring of overstuffed couches with a glowing, green orb hovering over his outstretched right hand and a wicked smile painted on his face.

Thor is the first one out of his seat. He shouts questions at his brother of how he could be out of the grasp of their father and back on Midgard. But Loki's left hand shoots out and with some whisper of words most of them don't catch, Thor is locked in place.

"I have come bearing a gift," Loki spoke, his silver tongue saying words in that infuriatingly calm tone. "Your greatest desires and your worst nightmares." He paused to hold the orb closer to his face, inspecting the magic that lied within. "It is interesting how much the two overlap, isn't it?"

Without notice, Loki slammed the glowing sphere down at the feet of the Avengers. Natasha and Steve, possessors of the quickest reflexes, were closest to the orb when it hit the ground. They tried their best to contain as much of the light and mist that was expelled, but this wasn't an average grenade that you could throw yourself on to minimize damage. This was magic from a monster, and save for Thor, they still weren't used to dealing with that.

A number of things happened at once: Thor, free from whatever magic held him in place, tackled Loki to the ground and bellowed at Heimdall to open the recently repaired Bifrost; the brothers vanished in a column of light. Bruce morphed into his other self. Tony began rambling equation after number after scientific theory. And Clint let out a guttural yell as something or someone hit the ground.

It was the last one that drew Natasha's greatest worry. She turned to see Clint kneeling beside Coulson's body. And that's all that was left of the handler—a body. It was already cold and pale in its death with dried blood staining his chest all over again. Natasha felt more than heard the imposing footsteps of The Other Guy from behind her and half-listened to Steve's shouts as he tried to calm the beast, but none of them were prepared to hear what the Hulk was actually saying.

"Get out of the way, move aside," the deep voice ordered. "Let me see if I can help." Natasha obeyed the commands out of instinct. She watched as the green giant knelt beside Coulson's still form. He reached out to needlessly check his pulse when he caught sight of his own hands. The Hulk raised them up slowly and turned them over in front of his face. "This can't be," he said softly.

Natasha agreed. They'd all heard the Hulk on the comm lines. The majority of his dialogue involved grunts and barbaric yells. Despite the appearance and sound of the voice, Natasha knew whose mind was in control, and it wasn't The Other Guy's. "Bruce?" she asked softly.

He nodded his large head. "My mind, his body."

"Someone help him!" Clint shouted at them, pulling their focus back to matter at hand.

Natasha didn't know what to do or say. She knew SHIELD could work some medical miracles, already had on Coulson eight months ago when Loki stabbed him on the Helicarrier, but it looked like life had left the handler's body hours ago, not minutes. Despite that, she heard Rogers ordering for a med unit to get to their position immediately.

Natasha reached over the corpse to take Clint's hand but he swatted it away. "No," he ground out. "I just got him back. This isn't going to happen again."

As if willed by the words, Coulson gulped in air as color and life returned to him instantaneously. His eyes aimlessly searched the room until they found focus on Clint's face. "What happened?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

Clint didn't answer with words. Coulson had lost his tie and jacket before coming to relax with the team, so it was only a dress shirt that Clint had to rip open in order to set eyes on Phil's chest. Natasha craned her head to inspect, too, and she couldn't believe what she saw—or rather what she didn't see. Phil's chest held no marks. There was no scar, and no sign of the blood that had dried on his shirt. Gingerly, Clint sat Coulson up and pulled the shirt down further to show that the other man's back was free of scarring, too.

"Sir, how are you feeling?" Steve asked.

Coulson gave his head a small shake and shrugged his shoulders. "I feel fine, a little disoriented, but nothing hurts." He paused as he rolled his shoulders around and rotated his left arm in the air. "Actually, I feel better than I have since before I was attacked." He continued to roll his neck and test muscles. Clint's eyes and hand never leaving Phil's face or back.

Natasha's rolled back from her haunches to sit on the ground, trying to process everything that just happened. Before she could even being to think, a med team rushed into the common room with a couple of gurneys and demands of a sitrep.

Bruce began giving an oral report full of medical details to the team who, to SHIELD's credit, didn't look shocked for too long as they heard the fearsome green giant talk about Coulson's condition in full-on doctor speak. Phil tried to wave off the attention the medical team gave him, but one look at Clint's terrified face caused him to change his mind. He still repeated "I'm fine," in response to questions and being poked at, but obligingly laid down on the gurney and was wheeled out of the room to be taken to SHIELD headquarters for further inspection, Clint keeping pace at his side the whole way.

Natasha watched the Hulk's eyes follow them out of the door and recognized the longing to accompany the men, but he remained where he was. "Don't you want me to escort you?"

He shook his large head before rumbling his answer. "I don't want him to come crashing back into his body in the middle of a hospital floor."

"Where's Stark?" Steve asked, eyes searching the room.

"JARVIS?" Natasha called out.

There was a slightly longer than normal pause before the disembodied voice responded. "Sir is in his workshop."

"Is he okay?" Rogers asked.

Again, a slight pause. "I am… unsure. Scans show that he is healthy physically, but something has changed."

"What is it?" Bruce inquired.

"Sir is producing theories and designs, which is not unusual. But what is strange is the volume and complexity. I have never seen work this advanced, even from him. I, myself, am struggling to keep up with his mind's pace at the moment."

Natasha looked at Bruce with a raised eyebrow, a silent question on how he thought the situation should be handled.

Bruce shrugged, "As long as he's not doing himself any harm, I say we don't fight it. You know how he can go on experimentation benders. JARVIS, keep monitoring his vitals. If anything spikes, let us know."

"Do you think we should call Pepper?" Steve asked.

Natasha answered. "Odds are she was alerted about something happening since we called the medical team up here. But now that most everyone," she paused to throw a sympathetic look Bruce's way, "is okay, we should probably call her to calm her down." .

Steve nodded. "I'll go give her a call." He left the room as he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and began dialing.

Natasha turned her attention back to Bruce. "What are we going to do about you?"

"I don't know, but you and Steve need to be checked out."

Natasha shook her head, "I feel fine. Cap seems okay."

"No, you two were closest. We don't know what it could do. We need to make sure you're not affected in some way that we can't casually observe."

Natasha looked at her nails. She didn't want to go. She hated medical scans; they brought up too many distorted memories of serving as a Russian lab rat in order to be built and genetically modified into the spy she was.

"What about you?"

Bruce looked down at himself. "There are containment chambers on every floor, the largest being on the same floor as my quarters. I can go hang out there for a while."

"No. I'm not letting you lock yourself up. I'll stay with you and keep an eye out."

Bruce shook his head. "I remember how you looked at me after he chased you through the Helicarrier. I'm okay with not having to live with that again."

Natasha refrained from answering for a moment, her brain still trying to piece what all had happened in the span of fifteen minutes. "How do you feel right now?"

His face tightened, his mind apparently tracking on the same path as hers. "Angry, but not out of control."

"What would happen if you lost that control?"

"You really think that's a good idea?" Steve asked as he reentered the room.

She shrugged. "I think I know what will happen, but I want to be sure. Always be prepared, and all that stuff you usually are telling us about."

Steve shook his head, but gave in anyway. "Doc, you okay with this?"

Bruce looked at Natasha for a moment before answering. "I think I know what will happen, too. Steve, get a little closer, and get ready to put me in a hold if you need to."

A mix of confusion and reluctance to go along with the situation crossed Steve's face. But he trusted his team, so he closed the distance between himself and Bruce until he was standing behind and to Bruce's left.

Natasha gave the man in the beast's body a nod as she tried to keep her face and breathing calm. Just because she had an idea of what would happen, didn't mean she would be right.

Bruce nodded back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Out of instinct, his limbs pulled away from hanging at his side and a yell escaped from him. But instead of deepening in tone, it rose. In a matter of moments the body in front of her shrunk down to Bruce's normal form. When he reopened his eyes, her hypothesis was confirmed; the wild tone to the brown eyes, accompanied by an attempt to lunge forward, was enough for Natasha to drop into a combat stance and prepare for action. But Steve was already ahead of her. With unnatural speed, he had an arm around the now smaller man's neck in a sleeper hold. Natasha felt a warning trying to escape her lips, but then her mind remembered who this was—Steve Rogers was acutely aware of just how strong he was, how much damage he could deal. As soon as the Hulk in Bruce's body lost consciousness and shades of green began to reclaim the color of his skin, Steve eased the limp and expanding body down to the ground before grabbing an afghan off the back of one of the couches to give him some modesty since the pants Bruce wore were able to survive the first physical transition, but not the third.

Natasha and Steve's eyes met with matching expressions of "What do we do now?" She shrugged before he asked if she could handle Banner. She nodded. "I'm going to go down and check on Stark. I told Pepper that we're all fine and I think she bought it, but I'm sure she'll feel better when I put my own eyes on him to double check," Steve responded. "Call Clint and get an update on Phil for all of us, please." With orders dispersed, he turned and headed towards the bank of elevators to travel down to Tony's workshop floor.

She positioned herself on the floor, crossing her legs, and blowing a tuft of red hair out of her face. Natasha pulled out her phone and sent a text to Clint with orders to check in as soon as they knew something. She was inspecting her nails when Bruce began to stir in the oversized body a few minutes later. He let out a short, soft moan before meeting her eyes. "Hypothesis confirmed?"

Natasha gave a quick nod. "Seems like your two options are your mind in his body, or his mind in your body."

Bruce looked down at himself. "They'll probably want to run tests," he said quietly.

Natasha felt herself bristle. "They'll have to get through me first. If you want them to."

He gave her a small, grateful smile. "Honestly, I've always wanted to run tests on him myself. Maybe we can work out a deal where I share my data once I'm through."

So that became the new plan. They stopped at Bruce's quarters for him to grab a pair of Hulk-sized pants before moving into the containment chamber on his personal floor, and she made a note to thank Tony for making sure everything—including elevators—were heavily enforced enough to easily bare the weight and density of the Hulk. Once they reached the door hidden towards the back of a corridor, Natasha showed more apprehension about stepping into the room than Bruce did.

"It's okay," he said. "I came in here voluntarily. You're not helping cage me in. Besides this one has the most advanced and precise scanning equipment." Reluctantly, Natasha moved her way through the entrance and stood just inside the large, round room. "JARVIS, do you have any processing power left if Tony has gone into full-on mad scientist mode?"

There's a pause before the answer sounds. "Of course, Doctor Banner, there are reserves in place. How can I assist you?"

"I need a new baseline for myself. Run the standard set of scans on me, please." He paused a moment. It was weird to see Bruce's mannerisms reflected in the Hulk's body. There was hesitancy, then a small nod as he decided to go ahead and do whatever he planned on. "And run a med eval on Agent Romanoff, too, please." Natasha felt her eyes roll. "It's either that or you go down to medical and have the scans run there."

"Fine," she acquiesced.

"Anything else?" JARVIS asked.

"Yeah, give us a video feed of Tony."

The round curve of the wall lit up into a bank of monitors. Natasha's eyes flicked from one to the other. Several showed various medical scans being run on Bruce's brain, a couple displayed her own vital signs, and another three randomly flicked through various camera feeds set up in Tony's workshop. On them, they saw and heard Steve try and ask a few questions to Stark to check on his condition, but the engineer ignored him completely. This wasn't anything new, especially when Tony was "in the zone" when it came to work, but that did not help ease the obvious look of concern written on Steve's face.

Natasha pressed at a holographic notification on one of the screen to open a comm channel to the room. "It's okay, Cap. We've got eyes on him from up here. JARVIS will tell us if this is something we need to worry about. Why don't you come up here and join us? If I have to get scanned, you do too."

Rogers seemed unconvinced, but left the workshop anyway.

Tests were run on everyone all through the night. Coulson was released in the morning after it was determined that his body showed no signs of the injury he sustained eight months ago. Steve, Clint, and Natasha's scans were all clear. Bruce's mind was still in the Other Guy's body, but if he wasn't too upset about it, then no one else was. Tony was still going strong in the workshop.

Thor returned the next afternoon with a look of remorse and shame in his eyes. He explained to them all how his brother had managed to escape, and how Odin had exiled Loki to a prison cell that operated in another dimension, and was therefore inescapable. It did little to put them at ease, but no one said much about it, to Thor's face anyway. They briefed the Asgardian on what had transpired while he was back home, and he nodded throughout the report. "Aye, this is Loki's magic indeed. It took a lot of conjuring to produce something powerful enough to affect all of us."

"Not all of us were affected," Steve commented.

Thor's expression turned to one of near pity. "It may not seem that way, and I truly hope that is the case, but just because you do not see the effects currently does not mean they are not present."

"What was he said the orb represented?" Coulson asked. "Greatest wishes and nightmares?"

Bruce nodded. "Something like that. I can see this," he paused to look down at himself, "fitting into the nightmare category at least."

Thor agreed solemnly, "I, too. Loki attacking all of you again, and so personally, is a nightmare of mine."

"That makes two of us," Phil added quietly.

Natasha didn't need to see the look on Clint's face to know he could join in on that feeling.

"I think I didn't show any signs of things changing because I'm already living my greatest nightmare and desire," Steve said, his eyes sticking to the floor. They waited silently for him to continue. He shrugged his wide shoulders before doing so. "Everything I ever wanted to be my life is gone and dead. But at the same time, all I ever wanted to do was to protect people, and I get to do that all of the time." He paused before turning blue eyes on Natasha. "What about you?"

She collected her thoughts a moment before speaking. "My worst nightmare is…" she paused, slightly unable to believe she was willing to admit such a big weakness and what the statement implied, but she went ahead with it anyway, "is seeing those I love in pain and not being to do anything about it." She caught Clint and Coulson's eyes before looking back to Rogers.

"What about your greatest wish?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't really know. Those two idiots safe and sound, I suppose," she said while pointing at Barton and her handler. "It would explain why I didn't show any signs of things changing, either."

Coulson took some notes in a file he was compiling on the incident, but for the most part they left it at that. Things were kept quiet about the attack. Fury and Hill were notified, but not too many others. Everyone at SHIELD, for understandable reasons, were extremely jumpy at any mention of Loki's name and Fury didn't want his people bent out of shape for something that seemed to have already resolved itself.

Tony remained in his lab for another day and a half. Stark awoke seven hours later and woke everyone else up, since it was the middle of the night, to—in between swears and threats—order them all down to his workshop. He was only momentarily fazed by Bruce's Freaky Friday act before demanding to know what had happened, and who broke into his lab. They looked at each other confused and promised that he was the only one in there working on things. "That cannot be," Tony yelled, "because while I am a genius, I don't operate at this level." He pointed at the various schematics still floating in the air. He turned to Bruce, "Do you even know what this means?"

Bruce shook his head, "I was able to follow you for the first few hours, but then you lost me."

"Nightmares and desires," Coulson commented.

Stark spun on his heel. "What did you say?"

"When Loki attacked us, he said the magic he was going to unleash would cause us to experience our greatest desires and nightmares. Desire: you've come up with something that the word 'genius' doesn't even begin to cover."

"Thank you."

"Yet, you can't grasp now what it means, how it works, or its purpose. And now it will haunt for who knows how long."

Tony's face slid slowly into an expression of loss, and the "Sonofabitch!" that erupted out of him confirmed Coulson's theory to be true. Steve and Coulson ushered everyone but Bruce from the workshop, and left the doctor in charge of calming down the raving Stark.

The following morning Bruce's mind was reunited with his body. Natasha was pleased to see the look of peace on his face at the matter.

Things continued on quietly for the next couple weeks. It was a little over three weeks after Loki showed up that Natasha was awoken by the Assemble alarm. She sat up quickly in bed and regretted the motion immediately. In her mind, she cursed Clint for dragging them all to the hole in the wall Chinese place for dinner last night. She was tempted to give in to her sour stomach and vomit in his quiver for introducing her to some foodborne illness, but she managed to keep things under control as she quickly dressed. Natasha was the last to board the Quinjet, right behind Clint and Coulson. Her handler gave her a concerned look when she let Thor ride shotgun in the cockpit with Hawkeye. "I'm never eating at that place again," she said in response and Coulson gave her a sympathetic look before giving them all a quick rundown of the situation.

A group of AIM scientists decided to test out some new weapons in Boston. The team quickly made it to the city and had the yellow-clad attackers incapacitated before too much damage was done to the city. They're back on the Quinjet three hours later. Natasha, still not feeling quite on top of her game, used the hum of the engines to lull her into a quick nap. When she awoke, everyone had left the craft and Coulson was staring down at her with his business face on. She hated that face.

"What did I do this time?"

"We're going to medical," he ordered.

"You feeling sick, too? I think it was the moo shoo pork."

He paused a moment before speaking. "You never sleep on the Quinjet."

"I also usually don't get sick from spoiled food. And since when are you getting mad at me for actually sleeping? You typically gripe that I don't sleep enough." He stood silently in front of her with arms crossed across his chest. She sighed. "If I don't go voluntarily, you're going to just order a full medical work-up anyway, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

The handler was kind enough to have the tests run on the medical floor of Stark Tower instead of dragging her to SHIELD headquarters or the Helicarrier. But she still wasn't happy to have to spend her day in a paper gown being scanned and prodded.

Coulson returned once they were done with a change of clothes, a bottle of ginger ale, and a sleeve of saltines. "Everything looks fine so far, but bloodwork won't come back till the morning. For now, go upstairs and rest. You're okay with Bruce looking over your tests?"

Natasha nodded. One of the ways Phil could bribe the team into coming to medical was handing over some of the doctor duties to Bruce. She changed and nibbled on crackers on her way back to her personal floor of the tower. She was finally starting to feel better, but didn't want to push her system. Once in her quarters, she went to the bookshelf to grab the well-worn copy of Enchantment and curled up in bed to re-read the story.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of the JARVIS insistently telling her that Doctor Banner and Agent Coulson were waiting outside. She grabbed a robe and threw it on while telling the AI to let them enter.

"What time is it?" she asked while yawning.

"Almost nine-thirty," Coulson answered.

The answer was surprising, but not as much as the look on Phil's face. She turned her attention to Bruce, who was avoiding her eyes and scratching his head. Never a good sign. "Out with it," she ordered.

"Your bloodwork came back," he said as he stepped forward to hand over her file.

Her eyes scanned the page until they fell on the two words that had the two men visibly upset: Pregnancy Confirmed.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha felt nothing. She couldn't feel anything; not shock and surprise, nor joy or anger. She couldn't feel anything about the medical report saying she was pregnant because she simply wasn't, she couldn't be. "It's wrong," she declared.

Coulson looked pained as he shook his head. "Tasha, Bruce ran the test four times."

Her green eyes turned to the other man in the room, who shrugged. "They all came out positive. Even with me recalibrating instruments in between tests."

She looked back down at the report in her hands. This just couldn't be.

"Can you tell how far along she is?" Coulson asked Bruce.

Banner shook his head. "You can't go off hormone levels; we'd need to do an ultrasound."

"You won't find anything there, because I'm not pregnant."

"Natasha—"

"No," she snapped, pointing a red-tipped index finger in her handler's face. "I'm not. You know I'm not, because you know I can't be."

Coulson's lips disappeared in a grimace as he looked at his shoes. His focus stayed there for a moment before a question finally found its way out of him. "I don't want to ask this—"

"Then don't."

"Do you know when this might have happened?"

Natasha took a small bit of satisfaction that Coulson looked absolutely miserable asking the question. He had always been extremely respectful of what little private life she could maintain, even when said private life was tangled up in Clint years ago. She paused to confirm what she initially thought. "It's been long enough that if I were actually pregnant, I would definitely be showing by now."

Coulson turned to Bruce, who shook his head with a frown. "This has been recent, we can tell that much."

Natasha thought back on what had happened to her lately. Her mind actively tried to avoid one event, but there wasn't any other explanation. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Romanoff."

"Get Thor in here, please."

"Of course."

No one spoke as they waited a few minutes for the Asgardian prince to arrive. The joyful expression on his face fell when he saw the state of his comrades. He quickly and correctly picked Natasha to focus on. She wondered for a second if the ease with which he could read people came with his old age or some alien trait. "What is troubling you, Lady Natasha?" he asked.

"Your brother impregnated me." Coulson moaned a "Natasha" under his breath as Bruce quickly rambled, "Not like that, not like that." Her mind replayed her words for her to hear just how they sounded and she realized why the men tried to smooth things out, which was a smart move judging from the look of barely contained rage now on Thor's face. "That's not what I meant, exactly," she said in a quieter tone, taking a step towards the demigod and feeling the air crackle around her as she did.

"Loki has committed many a despicable sin in his madness, but if he stooped to this vile level—"

"That's not what I meant," Natasha repeated. And she honestly meant it. That's not how she saw the situation—unless magical attacks were always considered non-consensual. But none of that mattered, because she honestly still didn't believe she was pregnant. This was a joke, an act of mischief. And she could definitely blame Loki for causing that.

"We think his magical attack a few weeks ago did this," Coulson explained.

Thor worked his jaw around for a moment. "I have never heard of him producing this particular spell. But it does not mean it is not within his realm of abilities." A look of concern crossed his face before he gave up the next piece of information. "Usually, his magic is not able to hold for more than a month, two at the most. And that is if he puts a great deal of focus into his efforts. Most of the time, his spells do not hold for more than a week."

"Do you think this spell could last a long time?" Bruce asked.

Thor paused to think. "It was enough work to attack all of us at once, but it is possible. He has had much time to think and muster energy in Father's prison."

"Do you think he would have it out for Natasha badly enough to place such a strong spell on her?" Coulson inquired.

Thor nodded. "Aye. The Lady Natasha was the only one to trick him when he attacked months ago. He was able to see through the ploys of everyone else, but he was most unhappy to be fooled by such a… I would rather not repeat the term." Natasha felt pride prickle up her spine at the backhanded compliment. Thor turned to her, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm nauseated because Clint can't pick a clean restaurant to eat in to save his life, and it's making me tired."

Thor turned to the other two in the room with confusion evident on his face. Coulson volunteered to explain the predicament. "She thinks she's suffering from a foodborne illness, and doesn't believe she's pregnant even though we have four positive tests saying otherwise."

Thor looked back at Natasha. "In Asgard, news of an impending birth is greeted with much celebration. Are you not joyful about this?"

And there it was. It was the question she didn't want to think about, because she didn't want to examine her feelings on the matter. She wasn't the cold-hearted, emotionless assassin SHIELD newbies (and some senior agents) mistook her for. Yes, she was an assassin, but she still felt things, still longed for things deep down like any other person. The difference was she wasn't foolish enough to believe that happy endings could ever apply to her. What few fairytales she heard as a child were Russian in nature and therefore rarely as clean and neat as the rest of the world's, and Natasha was positive she fell in line with her homeland with this notion. If things were to ever turn out well for her life, it wouldn't be without plenty of trouble and sadness crossing her path before she reached the end.

She left the question unanswered, unable to stand there any longer and talk about something that wasn't happening. Moving back to her bedroom, she shed the pair of shorts and Clint's old t-shirt that she used for pajamas and started turned on the shower. She tried to get her mind to focus on something else, anything else. Or even nothing, but even she wasn't that good at compartmentalizing.

She was reaching behind her for the bottle of shampoo when a flash of color circling the drain caught her attention. Her heart caught in her throat as she realized the red liquid swirling around was blood. She froze in place, not wanting to think about the implications of this when JARVIS called out from the ceiling, "Your nose is bleeding." She brought her right hand to swipe at her face, and sure enough it came away bloody. Natasha shut off the water, grabbed for a washcloth and pinched the offending nostril shut. She pulled the shower curtain back and sat on the edge of the tub, not entirely trusting of her legs to remain steady at the moment.

She began counting seconds in her head. This was hardly her first nosebleed, but it was one of very few times it hadn't been caused by physical contact to her face. She knew how to handle nosebleeds. She took comfort in the routine of it—applying pressure, counting seconds in her mind until at least five minutes had passed.

"Would you like me to call for medical attention?" JARVIS asked.

"No, I just… Just give me a minute."

"As you wish."

Once she counted to four hundred, just to be sure, she gingerly pulled the washcloth away and inspected her nose. No blood. There was one problem solved at least.

Natasha put the clothes she slept in back on and wrapped the towel around her wet hair, no longer caring whether or not it was clean. She made her way back out into the open space of her apartment that contained her common area, dining table and kitchen for a bottle of water. As she walked out, Clint—the only person to have unrestricted access to her quarters—walked in with a look of confusion on his face. Thor had left, but Bruce and Coulson were still present and huddled in quiet conversation. Normally, Natasha would be livid that their handler was playing the Barton card in order to get her to open up or possibly see reason, but she was still a little shaky, and welcomed the sight of Clint's face.

"What's going on?" Barton asked slowly.

Coulson looked at her with an expectant look on his face. Ten minutes ago she had flat out denied her test results, but now… "I'm pregnant," she said, the words falling out of her mouth.

"Oh, god, I'm not the father, am I? Is that why I'm here?" Clint asked with a terrified expression on his face.

"Why would you be the father?" Coulson asked, his voice sounding slightly exasperated.

"I don't know. That's just my gut reaction when I hear a woman I know say she's pregnant." Coulson rolled his eyes and shook his head. Had Natasha's head not been swimming, she probably would've joined in on the reaction and muttered a "Slut" in Clint's direction. It was probably her lack of reaction that was now causing Clint to edge towards her like she was a bomb that could go off at any second. "Tasha?" he called to her quietly.

She managed to sit on the couch and felt him sink down beside her. On the list of Times Natasha Romanoff was Grateful that Clint Barton Existed, this ranked number two. He didn't ask her questions, even though he knew about the state of her body post-experiments by the KGB. He didn't question what had happened or inquire about paternity possibilities. He just ran his left hand up and down her back and described the schematics for the new compound bow Tony was designing for him.

She vaguely noticed Coulson leading Bruce out of her quarters. She just sat there and listened to his voice become, not for the first time in her life, a white noise to calm her thoughts; she took comfort in the feeling of the familiar callouses moving up and down her back. She didn't know how long they'd sat there before she leaned back to curl up against his side. Clint tried to rest his cheek on top of her head but was impeded by the towel wrapped around her hair. Gently, he removed the offending object and buried his nose in her hair. "Talk to me," he said quietly.

It was a three-word phrase that meant so much to Clint, Coulson, and Natasha. In three words, the speaker could convey that they were a safe person to communicate with as well as a desperate need to hear another's voice in that instant to make sure the other was okay. "What am I going to do?" she asked.

"Whatever you want to do, Nat."

She thought about what his statement could imply. It's not like the thought hadn't crossed her mind. But could she actually do it? This whole thing was caused by magic; could that prevent her from doing that? Would it cause her harm in some way if she tried? Did she even want to?

Her mind caught on that last one. She thought back to her shower just now and watching the blood swirl down the drain, fear in her chest that she had lost something she didn't even know she wanted.

She was normally pretty good at recognizing when she should close one door and open another. For instance, the thought of joining SHIELD terrified her, but it was better than ending up with an arrow in her eye. Was this a similar predicament? It wasn't something she saw coming, and never certainly something she had planned for herself, but would it work out in the end? Would her life be better for it?

"I think I want an ultrasound," she finally answered.

"Okay," he replied with a squeeze around her shoulders. "I don't really know what that means, but okay."

Bruce had a look of regret on his face when he said he wasn't qualified to do the tests by himself. Thankfully he was able to recruit Doctor McClellan to help. Natasha appreciated whenever she wound up with her as a doctor on a visit to medical; McClellan never bothered with anything but the blunt truth.

McClellan came into the room to get things started, but not before giving a look around with a silent question on her face as to why so many people were present. Clint and Coulson manned either side of the head of the exam table Natasha was on with their arms crossed over their chests; Bruce, with his hands in his pockets and gaze flickering over Natasha, his shoes, and the medical monitors, held up a wall to her left. Natasha knew there were rumors galore about how the team spent their private time together and the possible relationship pairings between them, but whatever Doctor McClellan personally believed, she didn't let it show (too much) as she shrugged and went about her business. "There you go," she said a few minutes later as pointed to a glob of light on the screen.

"It just looks like a spot," Natasha commented softly.

"Can we name it Spot?" Clint asked in her ear.

"We're not here to name a puppy," Coulson retorted.

"Can we name it Puppy?" Clint asked. She knew he was doing it to try and make her laugh, because it was obvious she was not in her comfort zone at the moment, but it didn't stop her from glaring at him.

"Is it supposed to look like a blob?" she asked.

"It's normal for it to look like that right now. It will go from that, to an alien-like thing, to an actually baby."

Natasha's mind was thrown by two things in that moment. The first was that she knew next to nothing about this portion of a human's growth and development. The second was hearing the word "baby" and then her brain letting loose a string of Russian curses. It was the first time her focus went from only thinking about what was happening to her to solely thinking about holding a tiny, pink, helpless, squishy thing.

Her terror must have been evident on her face because Bruce peeled away from the wall to pull Doctor McClellan out into the hallway for a moment to discuss who knows what while Coulson leaned down near her ear, trying his best to sound like he was on comms instead of standing next to her in a medical ward. "Breathe, Tasha."

She closed her eyes and tried to obey commands, but when she did all she saw was some helpless, tiny child that she was bound to damage mentally, emotionally or physically. "I don't think I can do this," she whispered.

She was too lost in her thoughts to hear whatever was said to her in reply, if anything at all. Natasha was drowning, a feeling that wasn't absolutely foreign but still horrifying. She searched deep within for the being she was created to be, the resilient Black Widow. Natalia Romanova was a scared girl right now, but Black Widow was always there with ceaseless strength.

It took her a little longer to find it than normal, but she knew when she was there. She took comfort in the stony presence of the spy she was created to be; the woman created to handle anything and everything thrown at her with lethal poise, amusement, tenacity, and grace. She rested there a moment before trying to realign her thoughts. Natasha did her best to channel that strength, because deep down, this was a challenge she'd been intrigued by for decades, even if she could never gather the courage to admit the slightest interest in it.

"I don't think I can do this," she repeated with a bit more strength in her voice, "but I'd like to try."


	3. Chapter 3

She told the rest of the team later that afternoon. How Thor had managed to keep the news to himself was beyond her, but Natasha was grateful for his discretion. Shock was the general emotion in the room, and one that Natasha could easily identify with. Tony was concerned that there was a risk for all of them to be pregnant since they were all affected by the same attack. Silence hung in the air as everyone tried to swallow that idea, but JARVIS cut in to say that she was the only one expecting. There was simultaneous relief from the men at the news; although, Natasha would have been grateful to no longer be the most awkward person in this scenario.

Then the questions started. Steve was concerned about how she was feeling. She figured "numb" wouldn't be the most reassuring answer, even if it was true. So she settled for, "A little out of it." He looked like he was going to ask more, but closed his mouth and just nodded.

"Who's the father?"

Leave it to Stark to get extremely personal in no time flat. Granted, it wasn't like she wondered the same thing. She looked to Thor and raised a single red eyebrow as a silent question.

"No," he said. "Father thought it best to prevent Asgardians from mating with Midgardians. It is physically impossible for one of us to conceive a child with one of you."

"This wasn't physical," Natasha reminded him.

Thor shook his head. "Even with magic, the All-Father made sure it could not be done."

"Well, then," she said turning to Tony, "your guess is as good as mine."

"We could start a betting pool until genetic test results can come in."

"Stark!" Coulson and Rogers yelled in unison.

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "I deal with stress with humor. And alcohol. But that's off-limits for you now, right?"

She flipped him off in response. Doctor McClellan, while explaining that her nose bleed in the shower that morning would now be a common experience, had included her new dietary do's and don'ts among the rest of the information she'd espoused in her crash course to pregnancy. It wasn't the lack of vodka the team should fear; it was the lack of caffeine. She was half-tempted to make the men have the same dietary restrictions she now faced, but Coulson read her thoughts and warned that if the Avengers were deprived of coffee they would go from superheroes to world's crankiest villains in a matter of minutes. She couldn't really disagree with him.

Her physical gesture caused the others to stop talking. And when they stopped talking, they stared. At her. She closed her eyes and sighed. "No, we're not doing this. You're not all going to watch me like I'm a bomb waiting to go off. Divert your eyes, or lose them."

She moved away from them to the kitchen area and began rummaging through drawers to look for some suitable tea leaves. Behind her, Natasha heard Steve ask, "What's her status now in the field?"

She felt her back tense immediately. One reason was because they were talking about her like she wasn't in the room, and the second was because she had just had a similar talk with Coulson in medical about this very thing and she was still pissed about the answer.

"Agent Romanoff has been pulled from active field duty for the foreseeable future," Coulson answered.

Natasha refused to turn around and look at their faces. She didn't want pity. She didn't want concern. She wanted everyone to leave her alone. And since they were going to talk about her like she wasn't in the room, she supposed that she could just go ahead and leave and let them discuss how to plan her life without her, because today hadn't been invasive enough to begin with.

She grabbed tea leaves and a mug and left for her quarters. She selected some moody classical pieces to blare from the speakers embedded in the walls and made herself some tea. She was perched in the corner of the couch staring out across the Manhattan skyline the first time someone requested access to her quarters. She ignored the chime. Natasha knew she was brooding, and she didn't care. This was warranted. She never really got to be a normal teenage girl, maybe she could experience that for the first time, too.

* * *

It was well after sunset before she surrendered and let someone in. She knew they were taking turns trying to check in on her. The knocking and chiming, now easily audible after the series of concertos had run their course, seemed to have developed a set schedule. There were also periods where it was quiet but she could feel a presence on the other side. That was probably Bruce.

The lucky winner to get to deal with her was Steve. She almost felt guilty for ignoring him when she saw the concern etched on his face. Almost.

He crossed the open space and moved to join her on the couch, making sure to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. "I'm just going to sit here for a while. If you want me to leave, you say so. If you want to talk, I'll listen, and I won't even have to respond."

She let him stew in silence just to see if he would hold true to his word, but she should've known he would. This was Steve Rogers, after all. Bruce and Coulson would do the same. Clint would try, but wouldn't be able to hold his silence for long; Stark wouldn't even waste time by bothering to offer a quiet version of himself. And knowing how Thor reacted when upset, Natasha figured it would be a matter of seconds before the Asgardian got off the couch and paced a hole in her rug.

"I don't want to be pitied, and I don't want you talking about me like I'm not there." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw work back and forth as his eyes fell to the ground at her words. "You can speak," she sighed.

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me, and I apologize. But no one pities you right now. Honestly we're all thrown by this, too. Granted, not as much as you probably are, but still."

"I don't want to be useless."

"I don't want you on the team," he admitted quietly.

She turned a fierce glare at him. "I can take care of myself."

"No one doubts that, Natasha. No one has thought of you as weak or incapable. Ever. But I need my team to focus when we we're fighting, and we can't do that right now if you're out there with us. It's not your health that is my immediate concern; it's the rest of us. Do you honestly think this wouldn't change things? That we wouldn't all be keeping an eye on you while trying to focus on everything else? That it would only be a matter of time before one of us got hurt because we were too busy making sure you were okay to pay attention to what was right in front of us?"

"You wouldn't have to do that."

"Yes, we would. We're a team; watching each other's backs is what we do. You do that for us; why wouldn't we do the same for you?" She turned her gaze back to the skyline, unable to take his honest answer and piercing gaze. Natasha remained silent for a few minutes. Coulson had given her the same response as the primary reason for pulling her from active duty. She could understand it, but she had a hard time believing it. Spending your life as nothing more than an asset made it difficult to believe people could genuinely care about you. "We want to help you," Steve said after a few minutes. "It doesn't mean we don't think you're capable. But we're a team. We take on each other's burdens."

She felt herself bristle at the pep talk, but smarting off to him would be like kicking a puppy right now, and not even she was that cruel. A soft "okay" was what she settled for.

He gave her a look that made it clear that he knew she was playing along, but let it slide otherwise. "Trust me, I know how much you're going to hate hearing this question over and over again, but how are you feeling?"

"You've been pregnant before?"

"No, just a really sick kid. Have had anything to eat?" he asked, his eyes moving to look at her kitchenette. As usual, it was bare. Natasha was too accustomed to having her meals prepared by others, usually in whatever you could call a commissary on whichever SHIELD base she was assigned to at the time, to bother with cooking herself.

"No, but I'm not hungry. I can't get my stomach to calm down."

"Bruce made some soup." Natasha's mind brought up the smells usually associated with Bruce's soup—spicy and rich—and it caused her stomach send another wave of nausea at the thought. She must've grimaced because Steve quickly amended, "It's just chicken broth. I can go get you a bowl if you don't feel like going down and getting it yourself."

She contemplated hiding for the rest of the evening, but her legs were already too stiff for comfort from remaining sedentary for the last six hours. Natasha shook her head, "I'll come down."

They walked in silence to the elevator bank outside the door to her quarters. Once down in the empty common kitchen, she was grateful that the only aroma in the air was that of the chicken broth. Her stomach rumbled in response and she moved to the cabinets to search for a bowl. Steve headed for the fridge to look for leftovers for himself, because most of the men on the team rarely ever felt full.

She perched on a stool at the kitchen counter to sip her soup and watched him rummage for a minute before he pulled a gallon of milk free. He twisted the lid and had it halfway to his mouth before he turned and remembered he wasn't alone. "Probably should mind my manners, shouldn't I?" he asked with a slightly guilty look in his eye.

"Not so much manners I'd worry about but more the fact that I'm sure Clint wouldn't want someone moving in on what he considers to be one of his jobs." Steve grimaced as he returned the lid to the milk and put it back without drinking any of it. He pulled a carton of orange juice out instead and held it out for Natasha's inspection. She nodded. "He hates extra pulp; you're safe."

"My ears are itching," Clint announced as he walked into the room with Coulson close on his heels, "I assume you're talking about me."

"It's either your nose is itching or your ears are burning," their handler corrected. "If your ears are itching, I'm sending you to medical for allergy tests."

Clint rolled his eyes and plopped won on the bench next to Natasha. "Look who came out of hiding," he said as he reached in front of her to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. She responded by flipping him off. "I've been seeing a lot of that finger today."

"Would you like to see the other one?" she asked.

"Enough, both of you," Coulson commanded in a tone of voice that spoke simultaneously of authority and boredom.

"Did you two have JARVIS set up on alert for whenever I left my quarters?" she asked.

"Not me," Clint said with a full mouth. "He did it."

Coulson shot Barton a dirty look before shrugging an apology to Natasha. "I wanted to make sure that you saw I added a meeting for the two of us with Fury tomorrow morning on the Helicarrier."

Natasha felt her shoulders tense, "Great, so I can tell him, too?"

"He already knows. This is about your new assignment for the Initative."

She felt her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I thought I was off the team."

"You're off active field duty; that doesn't mean you get a vacation for the next nine months."

"What part of pregnancy sounds like a vacation to you, exactly?" she asked with a quiet yet obviously lethal tone since Steve took a step back from her and Clint paused in his chewing.

"Getting to eat as much as I want and then having people think it's cute that I'm fat? Worth the stretch marks," Coulson answered in his patented deadpan tone of voice.

She tried to maintain her glare at her handler, but it faltered. "I hate you," she muttered.

"No, you don't. Meet me on the landing deck at eight. Clint's flying us over." She opened her mouth to protest but he waved her off. "He already at a meeting with Hill at the same time. You're co-pilot."

"Unless you don't feel up to it," Clint said quietly, concern evident in his eyes.

"I'm fine."

He looked at her, really looked at her. It was the stare he got on his face whenever he was lining up a shot or tracking a teammate's movement to make sure they were protected. "No, you're not," he said quietly before leaning over and placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek with his apple juice covered lips. "And that's okay." He used the lean as a momentum to rise from the stool and start his walk back out the door. "Sweet dreams, everybody."

Her gaze fell back to Coulson who was giving her a similar visual assessment before he nodded and followed Clint's path out the door. She took a moment to let Clint's reassurances sink in as she wiped the slobber he'd left behind on her face before finishing her soup while Steve silently emptied the dishwasher. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."

"I'm not. Someone has to empty this thing out, and it certainly isn't going to any of you lazy pigs," he answered, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked.

She finished her soup and waved off Steve's offer for seconds. Natasha found a container for the leftovers and placed a Black Widow stick on the top of it before placing it in the fridge. One of the upsides of having tons of merchandising based on your likeness was that you had ample stickers lying around to easily claim leftover cartons of food as your own.

As she placed the container in the refrigerator, she noticed a new sign above the coffee pot reading _FPWHPO_. "What does that mean?" she asked.

Steve rolled his eyes before answering, "'For people who have penises only.' Stark's idea of a nice reminder for you to stay away from the coffee in the mornings. He had other ideas for it including 'Coffeemaker for the non-baby-makers' as well as 'No Chicks Allowed' which then led into a pretty great story about how much Pepper punished him the last time he mistakenly referred to a woman as a chick. He also offered to make the sign simply out of pictures. I don't need to see those images ever again."

* * *

Natasha awoke the next morning, and followed Doctor McClellan's orders of eating some crackers that she'd left on her end table last night before she sat up and got out of bed. She flicked through her email on her phone while she munched, but there were only the usual sitreps. She supposed she should be grateful that her present medical condition wasn't included in them. Coulson had agreed to keep it quiet even if he didn't totally believe her logic that according to Thor, this whole mess would go away in another month at most when Loki's magic eventually wore off.

Once her morning snack was complete she went about her usual routine of getting ready. She was up on the landing pad a few minutes before eight to find Coulson checking the comms and Clint running through the pre-flight procedures. She nodded to their handler as she made her way into co-pilot's seat. She donned her headset and began looking over her side of the control panel. She felt Clint's eyes on her and she waved off his concerns. They took off and as long as Natasha kept her focus on the instrument panel in front of her and not the rapidly moving landscape below, she felt fine.

Twenty minutes later, she and Coulson walked into Fury's office aboard the Helicarrier. He waved them into the pair of seats in front of his desk as he finished a phone call, and dropped into his own seat with a sigh. "Agent Romanoff."

"Sir."

"I hear your schedule is a bit lighter these days, so I found a new project for you." He nodded at Coulson to continue.

"One of the purposes for the Initiative was not only a defensive measure against anyone who came to attack us, but also to be used as an offensive team for pre-emptive strikes. We want to take advantage of your tactical skill set and have you plan and coordinate those missions." He pulled a couple of the folders he brought into the office with him and handed them over to her.

Some of the faces were familiar ones to Natasha. Along with their profiles were recent reports and rumors of the villains' and henchmen's locations, known associates, and activities.

"Also," Fury continued, "we want to use this as opportunity to filter in some of the other Initiative prospects." She felt her shoulders tense at the careful wording of "replacements". "No one is losing their place on the team, including you. But we recognize that not everyone can always be available. Thor might be back on Asgard. Barton might be out on a solo mission. Stark might be stuck in a jail cell for pissing someone off. You never know. So we want you to look at the other candidates and work on integrating them into the team."

Coulson took the opportunity to hand her the remainder of the folders he had in his possession. Natasha flipped through them seeing familiar names and faces as well as a few that were new to her. "You'll still be responsible for public appearances for the next couple of months—or even after you start showing if you want." She gave him a look she'd already given him several times in the last day or so. The one that said _Thor said this wasn't permanent, so stop talking like it will be_. And as Coulson had done every time she silently said that, he ignored her and kept talking. "But for battles, obviously you're restricted. And for publicity sake, it would be good for the press if the first few replacements we try out are female. Just in case news of your condition leaks, we don't want to start a debate about gender equality by replacing you with a man."

His words were echoed by the filed he'd pulled. She re-read the names: Danvers, van Dyne, Morse, and Drew. "Looks like I have some work to do."


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES:** For those of you who aren't familiar with the comics, there will be a couple new names to you in this and possible future chapters. For those of you who are familiar with the comics, hopefully I did these characters justice.

* * *

"No and hell no."

Natasha should have known from Clint's exclamation at breakfast that this was going to be a bad day, but she ignored the feeling and tried to ignore him.

"What are your issues with Drew and Morse?" Steve asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Jessica is an ex-girlfriend," Natasha answered, "and Bobbi is his ex-wife."

Tony's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "You were married?"

Clint turned a venomous look towards Natasha before answering. "Yes," he sighed. "To be fair, I was young and stupid."

"Good thing time has let you fix one of those problems," Natasha muttered.

Clint flipped her off in response before turning back to Tony. "Like you've never had anything like that happen to you. I know how often you go to Vegas. Surely some handler has had to drag your drunk ass out of a wedding chapel before you walked down the aisle with some showgirl."

"That has never happened," Tony said. Pepper cleared her throat from across the kitchen. "With a showgirl," he amended.

"Clint, if we ban all your exes from the team, we will significantly shrink our pool of candidates," Coulson said.

"And I would have to leave, too," Natasha reasoned.

Clint waved her off. "You don't count."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And why is that?"

He shrugged. "You're like my sister."

"So you're saying our relationship was incestuous?"

Tony snickered. "Does your Iowan upbringing also tell you that it's acceptable to sleep with barn animals?"

Natasha cut in before the two men started yet another snark off. "Morse is a good candidate because we need someone who can stay and fight on the ground. Drew has her pheromones, which is a new kind of resource we haven't fought with yet. They've both been part of SHIELD for years and won't have to adjust to that part of the job like new recruits would. Besides," she added with a smirk, "don't you want to show off who you're sleeping with now?" she asked while pointing a finger to their handler.

"God, no. I do not need them to throw a girls' night and drag him along as the sassy gay friend so they can drink the night away telling horrible story after horrible story about me."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Phil asked. "And what makes you think I'd go along with this?"

"I know how much of a sucker you are for a good margarita," Clint answered.

"I will tuck that piece of information away for later," Tony said as he rose from the table. "I'm spending the day in the workshop if you need me."

"How is that different than any other day?" Bruce asked.

Tony put on an expression of mock hurt. "And just when I was going to invite you down for a playdate."

Bruce left to follow Tony down to the workshop. Thor rose proclaiming he felt like exploring the city again today. Coulson shouted a reminder to them all that they had press events this afternoon, which earned a collective groan from the group. "Bruce and Thor are going to the ribbon cutting at the park. The rest of you will be at the Children's Hospital event in your suits. Cars leave here at two."

"I'll make sure Tony hits the showers by one," Pepper commented as she made a note to herself in phone and headed out of the common room.

Steve gently elbowed Natasha. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

She shook her head. "Stomach won't calm down this morning."

"You have to eat something."

"I'm just going to go find a ration bar."

Steve cringed, "Those things don't taste like anything."

"Precisely," she responded. She gathered up her files and headed to her quarters. There she read more on backgrounds and abilities while fighting off the urge to vomit. Setting aside the files, she gave into a nap and was grateful to wake up to a settled stomach. Natasha checked the time and saw that she needed to start getting ready for the press event.

She meandered into her bedroom and removed one of her suits from her walk-in closet. She took a moment to look it over and study the details in the clothing, the familiar pockets and sturdy material. It had been a little over a week since she last donned it for battle, but she didn't know then that it would be her final go-around for hopefully a couple more weeks at most. She ran her fingers over the leather and wished she was suiting up for a fight and not to stand in front of cameras. She'd been pulled off of field duty for less than three days and already she was itching for a mission. She wanted to hit something, wanted to have the satisfaction that came with landing a perfect kick, but she would have to deal without that particular release of frustration for now.

She removed her clothes and shimmied into the suit. Sign number two that Natasha should never have left bed today happened moments later when she tried to zip up the front of the costume. The zipper, which had always been snug over her curves, now refused to move up and over her chest. Muttering a stream of Russian curses, she tugged a few more times before admitting defeat.

Leaving her clothing in its current state, she marched out of her quarters and headed up to the penthouse where they were gathering before leaving. When the elevator doors opened, whatever conversation that had been taking place was quickly cut short when Clint exclaimed, "Damn, Tasha," which was quickly followed by a smacking sound and Barton crying, "Ow! What the hell, Cap?"

"Eyes front, son."

"Umm, they were front; that's how I noticed," he waved a hand in Natasha's direction, "that. And, seriously? 'Son'?"

"Enough," Coulson cut in as he walked up to Natasha, unsurprisingly keeping his eyes even with hers instead of letting them drift to her open cleavage like the men—even Rogers, who would die of embarrassment if she called him on it—were doing at the moment. Normally she would use the distraction to her advantage, but now she felt exposed, and not just physically. The change in her body was not something she was controlling; this wasn't an attempt to manipulate someone, and as much as she tried to school her features right now, inside she was regretting walking onto Tony's floor dressed like this. "I'm sorry," Coulson apologized, "I meant to give you a heads up that you have a standing appointment with the clothing portion of the research department to adjust your suit when you needed it. Just didn't think it would be so soon."

She raised a single red eyebrow and crossed her arms under her chest out of habit. She saw Coulson take in a breath and grit his teeth as he caught the effects of her movement in his peripheral vision. Natasha fought the urge to lower her arms back to her sides successfully. "You knew this would happen?"

He nodded. "I have sisters who have kids and a strong tendency to overshare. Change into whatever you want to wear. You'll go with Bruce to the park, and Thor will take your place at the hospital."

"Aye," the Asgardian proclaimed, "I would be much more comfortable in my battle garb than in this Midgardian dress."

Natasha was grateful for the switch. She was going to hear enough comments as it was from her teammates; she didn't need the press hounding her for showing up to an event at a children's hospital showing off massive amounts of cleavage. Life as the only woman on the team was challenging enough on the days when the press isn't treating you like a piece of meat. She also didn't want to deal with Tony staring, Clint trying not to stare, and Steve holding his shield in front of her all afternoon to block people from getting an eyeful. And it was times like this, when she felt most uncomfortable, that she realized she'd developed a tendency to drift towards Bruce.

She didn't know why it was exactly, but in the months that they'd come together as a team, there were several occasions where she felt out of balance with her surroundings. And whenever that happened, she found herself drawn to Bruce's lab. She didn't pretend to understand the experiments that he worked on. She just sat quietly on a stool in the corner and soaked in his presence. Maybe it was his mostly calm nature, his taste in classical music, or his ample supply of exotic teas that did the trick, but whatever it was she felt more like herself a couple of hours later than she did before she walked in. They never talked; he would keep at his work and she would watch him move about the lab and fiddle with instruments.

Fifteen minutes later, Natasha was wearing clothes that fit and covered her and she was riding in the backseat of one of Stark's town cars with Bruce to the park. "I think Thor was hoping to smash the ribbon apart with Mjolnir," Bruce quipped. "But I'm sure they'll have a ridiculous pair of oversized scissors on hand for us to use."

"I suppose they wouldn't appreciate me pulling out a knife to do the job, would they?"

"Since the park is being dedicated to peace? Probably not. You want to have the honors?"

"How about I'll take the bottom handle, and you take the top."

He chuckled. "Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

A week and two fights passed. Natasha was up late in her quarters rewatching video recordings of a thwarted AIM attack in the financial district from two days ago. She made notes on how the team worked together, this time with Spider-Woman taking Black Widow's position. For the most part, the team functioned well together. There were a couple of hiccups that were to be expected when throwing someone new who doesn't know how to anticipate others' movements without thinking about it just yet. But that wasn't what was catching Natasha's eye at the moment.

"JARVIS, can you run an analysis on reaction times and compare it to previous battles?"

"Of course, Agent Romanoff," the voice answered from all around her.

"Do so for Captain Rogers." She picked at her nail polish while waiting for the artificial intelligence to confirm what she already expected.

"The Captain's reaction time has been steadily decreasing over the last three weeks, even though it is still in a range superior to average humans."

Natasha looked at the clock. It was a little after midnight and odds were fair that the good Captain would still be awake. "Where is he now?"

"Captain Rogers is currently in the gym."

Natasha paused before making her way out of her quarters. "Is he alone?" She wasn't about to call out their team leader in front of others.

"Indeed. Shall I alert him that you are making these inquiries?"

"No," she answered as she left her floor and made her way down to the gym. The facility was a floor all to itself complete with every piece of exercise equipment you could think of in triplicate at least. This was where they practiced sparring with each other, where they punched things to make themselves feel better, which was apparently what Rogers was doing at the moment.

Natasha took a moment to watch him from the corner of the room. He was taking out his obvious aggression on a heavy bag, and from the amount of sweat that covered his body, he'd been at it a while. She noticed his body tense when she started to examine him, so she gave up any pretense of hiding and walked toward him only to stop about ten feet from his position. She waited silently until he finished his series of punches.

He stared the bag down for a few moments before turning to look at her. "Something I can help you with?"

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

He tried his best to cover up his reaction that was a mixture of surprise and guilt, but wasn't quick enough for Natasha's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. Your reaction time is getting slower. Is the serum starting to degrade or is something else going on?"

He stalled by moving to the bench where he kept a water bottle. He pulled a long drink from it before removing the tape from his hands. "I've been having dreams," he answered quietly. Natasha didn't move or respond, just waited silently for him to elaborate. "They started after Loki's attack on us."

At that, Natasha' felt her eyebrows knit together. "I thought you said you weren't affected."

He shrugged. "I didn't think I was then."

"Why didn't you tell any of us?"

Steve shook his head. "I didn't think it would affect the team. It's not anything physical; it's not keeping me out of the field like you. It's not something that is constantly plaguing my thoughts like what Tony is dealing with."

"Are you sure about that one?"

Steve sighed and sat on the bench. "No, not anymore. My dreams—they're of what could've been. What life would be like if I hadn't let Buck fall off that train. If I hadn't put the plane down in the ocean. If we'd all survived the war." He hunched his strong frame over and rested his elbows on his thighs. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes as if the action could erase whatever images his mind was tormenting him with. "At first, things didn't seem so bad. I'd had dreams like that before where we all get to go home and be happy. But these… these are so real. I can smell the food Bucky's mom cooks for us when we make it home. I can taste what it's like to drink from coke a glass bottle again. I can feel Peggy—" he stopped abruptly and shook his head. "It feels real. And every time I fall asleep, it's like something or someone paused my life there and I pick up right where I left off."

"So you've been avoiding sleep?"

He nodded. "I'm starting to become afraid that I'll want to live in that life more than this one. I'm scared I'll never want to get out of bed." He stopped and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sitting here complaining about happy dreams when you're going through what you are."

She shook her head and moved to sit next to him on the bench. "I know what it's like to have times in your life you would be happy to relive. I wouldn't want them to taunt me either. But my point in talking to you about this is when we ask if something is wrong, you need to tell us."

"To be fair, I didn't know anything would be wrong when you last asked."

She rolled her eyes, "Doesn't mean you couldn't have told one of us later."

He shrugged. "It's hard having the title of 'leader' over your head. I don't want you guys to have to worry about me. I don't want to seem," he paused to search for the right words and had a soft smile on his face when he found them, "unfit for duty."

Natasha gave a quick huff of a laugh. "Clint and Stark spent ten minutes arguing over who would get to eat the leftover mashed potatoes for breakfast this morning while Thor went and snuck them out of the fridge right under their noses. I'm pretty sure your position as team leader won't be in jeopardy anytime soon." She took a beat to try and think of something encouraging to say, if only because seeing Steve sad was something even someone as cold as Natasha found to be depressing. "Look at it this way, according to Thor, we have at most a couple more weeks of this, and then everything will be back to normal."

Steve looked at her with a hint of fear in his eyes. "What if it doesn't?"

She didn't want to think about that possibility. Natasha was banking everything she had on Thor's statement, because if it turned out not to be true, she would lose what little sanity she had left. "Then you and I are screwed."


	5. Chapter 5

A week after Steve confessed his vivid dreams to Natasha, she was standing outside his quarters waiting for him to let her in. They'd decided that night in the gym that she would be on reveille duty and would make sure he was awake and out of his dreams and bed no later than eight o'clock each morning. Natasha convinced Steve to tell Coulson about his situation, but Rogers was still been too stubborn—and a bit embarrassed for reasons Natasha didn't quite understand—to give the team specific details of how the attack affected him.

They'd developed a system over the last week. She would come and make sure he was awake and present in their world, and then the two would go run together for an hour. Since she wasn't allowed to spar with anyone anymore, Natasha craved physical activity. It was always appreciated to have someone alongside you pushing you further, even if she was pretty sure Steve was going easy on her. But since parts of her were sore from her body growing and stretching in new ways, she didn't put up too much of a fight over it.

She hit the door to his quarters with three sharp, open-palmed slaps. "C'mon, Rogers. Get up." She'd been outside his door for five minutes. She knocked, chimed, called, and texted, but there wasn't any response. She was going to give him another two minutes before she asked JARVIS to override the security lock, but it wasn't needed since the door whooshed open a moment later.

Steve stood there with a towel in one hand and a button down in the other. His face and hair were still damp from a shower. "Sorry," he apologized as he stepped aside so she could enter his living space. "Fury called me thirty minutes ago. They want to send me on a solo mission. I have to be on the helicarrier in half an hour. I got distracted and forgot to call you."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Do you need anything before you go?"

"Convert my usual wake up call to Central European Time and make sure I'm out of my bunk."

"Will do."

"Tell the team I'll be back in a couple of days."

"Are you taking anyone with you?"

"Sitwell's my handler," he answered as he buttoned up his shirt. "And there are a couple of other agents coming along, as well. Shouldn't be anything too challenging."

"Call us if you get into trouble."

"I will," he said with a smile.

She told him bye and headed back for the elevators. Natasha contemplated going out for her run on her own, but didn't want to be alone with her thoughts today. So she informed JARVIS to deposit her on Clint and Coulson's personal floor. She repeated her efforts of beating on the door until Clint answered a few minutes later wearing only boxer briefs and his hair sticking out in a hundred different directions. "S'my day off," he mumbled as a greeting with his eyes still closed.

"Come running with me."

"Day. Off."

"I'll take you to that chicken and waffle place that you love when we're done."

He stood there and considered his options while running a hand over his scruffy jaw. "Gimme five minutes."

She took the opportunity to move through a couple of stretches in the kitchen while he threw on some clothes and returned to meet her. Barton grabbed the warm pot of coffee Coulson had undoubtedly left behind before he headed into the office that morning and drank from it without bothering with a mug.

"You're disgusting."

Clint swallowed the last bits of sustenance before drying his mouth with the back of his hand. "You love me anyway," he replied as he put the pot in the sink.

"For reasons I don't understand, yes, that is sadly true."

The pair made their way out of Stark Tower and began their run through Manhattan. An hour later, Clint collapsed onto a bench in Central Park. Natasha stood over him and watched their breaths crystallize in the cold February air. "Seriously? That's as far as you can go?"

Clint gave her the stink eye before answering, "To be fair I didn't go to bed till about four hours ago because some of us still have ops to do."

"I'd much rather be in your boots," she commented softly.

"Well there's no way in hell I'd trade place with you, sweetheart. You can keep that baby making business to yourself." He sat up after catching his breath and she lithely spun and sat next to him on the metal bench. "What's your plans for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"Paperwork to review. Files to read through. Medical appointment this afternoon."

"Someone going with you?" Clint asked quietly.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"That's not what I was implying."

She sighed, and tried to keep her tone and words polite. "No one's offered."

"Did anyone know about it in order to offer?"

"No."

"And didn't you just give Cap a lecture or something just a few days ago about being open with the team?"

It was Natasha's turn to give the stink eye. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Only if you want me there."

"Fine."

"Fine." They sat next to each other in silence for a couple of minutes before Clint bumped his shoulder into hers. She returned the favor with greater force causing him to laugh. "Can you feed me now? I'm starving."

* * *

Five hours, a giant brunch, and a couple of showers later, Clint and Natasha arrived in medical together. Natasha was called back to an examination room and Clint followed hot on her heels. A male nurse took her paperwork and asked some preliminary questions. When Natasha answered the one about the purpose of her visit, the nurse was unable to avoid giving a skeptical look between the couple before leaving with the note that Natasha should change into a gown and that Doctor McClellan would be in shortly.

"Five bucks says he's telling everyone I'm the father," Clint wagered.

"Five bucks says he's telling everyone I'm a surrogate for you and Coulson," Natasha countered as she began to undress.

Clint shuddered. "That is a terrifying thought on so many levels."

"Not ready to be father?"

"Never. And certainly not to a child that is the genetic combination of you and Phil. That would be the most ruthless and efficient baby ever born."

Natasha felt her eyebrows knit together as she settled herself on the exam table, quickly changed into the paper gown. "You wouldn't want to be the biological father?"

A look of darkness quickly crossed Clint's face as he rose from the chair along the wall to sit on a stool at her side before he quietly answered, "The world doesn't need any more Bartons."

Natasha didn't get the chance to get him to elaborate since Doctor McClellan picked that moment to enter the room. "Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton. How are we doing today?"

"I'm feeling a little bloated, but I think that's from brunch," Clint answered.

Natasha smacked him. "I'm feeling fine."

"How's the nausea?" the doctor asked.

Natasha shrugged. "I'm queasy most mornings, but only get sick a couple of times a week."

McClellan raised a blond eyebrow at her patient. "And on the mornings you do get sick, are you following the remedies I recommended to you?"

"I still have a busy schedule even if I'm not on active field duty," Natasha countered.

"I'll take that as a no," the doctor replied as she made a couple of notes in Natasha's chart. "You have to take better care of yourself." Natasha's only acknowledgement to the instruction was to sigh. "Glad to see you're such a receptive patient. Okay, exam time."

Natasha shifted on the table as Clint pulled a face and spun on his stool. "I'm just going to face," he paused to point at the wall behind Natasha's head, "that way."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not anything you haven't seen before. And you just watched me change my clothes."

"This," he said while waving a hand in the vague direction of the lower half of her body, "is a completely different thing."

"Wuss."

"And proud of it."

After Doctor McClellan finished her exam, asked more questions, and took measurements, she stood and wheeled over a machine to Natasha's bedside. "Okay, sonogram time. You might be able to hear the baby's heartbeat today."

Natasha went still enough that Clint turned to her with concern in his eyes. "Tasha?"

She shook her head. "I just didn't know this was going to be part of the appointment."

"Didn't you read the information I gave you?" the doctor asked.

Natasha averted her eyes and ground her jaw as an answer. She'd read through all of the things she should be doing now—what to eat or avoid, how much physical activity she could manage, what to expect for the first eight or so weeks. But beyond that? No, she hadn't, because this wasn't going to last. If Thor's math was correct, she had at most one more week of this. So why would she need to do research? She didn't need to read what it would be like to be a mother; she was never going to be one.

Clint reached over and took her hand. She fought the urge to draw back away from him, but he swept his rough thumb over her knuckles and she gave in to the contact. A few moments later, an image appeared on the monitor. Natasha remembered what the doctor had said at her last appointment about how it would go from a blob to an alien looking thing, and that's where it was now with its appearance. McClellan made a few adjustments before turning a few knobs and punching some keys on the machine before turning back to her patient. "Do you want to see if we can hear the heartbeat?"

Natasha was torn. Up until this moment, things had just been an inconvenience. There was nothing concrete to it. Even though thoughts of her condition constantly plagued her thoughts, it was all very abstract; more like a lengthy stomach flu than anything else. She wanted to keep it in that safe mental space of mostly denial; it would make things easier when Loki's magic eventually wore off.

But on the other hand, this might be the only chance she would get to hear her child in any shape or form, and that was too great an opportunity to pass up. So she took a deep breath and nodded. Clint squeezed her hand when she did and a moment later the sound of a rapid beat filled the room. "Whoa," Clint breathed, and Natasha had to agree. She looked more closer at the monitor and saw a highlighted portion of what still looked a little like a blob of light moving in sync with the noise in the room.

"Is it supposed to be that fast?" Natasha asked when she found her voice again.

McClellan nodded. "Well within the normal range. Do you want me to make a recording?"

Natasha hesitated, but Clint answered, "Yes," for her. She gave him a look. "What? It sounds really cool. And you may want it," he shrugged, "later."

"Way to dispel the surrogacy rumors by being the one to ask for it," she joked because that was easier than digesting what Clint meant. She chewed on her bottom lip before gathering the courage to ask her next question, because if she had to lay here and listen to a heartbeat, which made this whole thing start to be concrete, she might as well learn all she could about this child before it left her. "Can you tell the gender?" she asked quietly.

McClellan shook her head. "Not yet. You'll have to wait a few more months to tell with a sonogram. We could run some genetic tests in about a month, if you want, and determine gender that way."

"Sure," Natasha replied with a faint hint of a polite smile. She didn't have a month; she had less than a week.

And for the first time, Natasha felt a deep sadness associated with her personal countdown.

* * *

It was midnight, and Natasha was tossing and turning in her failed attempts to fall asleep. No matter what position she lay in, one hand seemed to always be in contact with her stomach. She checked the clock and grabbed her phone. She sent a text to Rogers to make sure he was up and awake for his mission, even though she was fairly certain that he wouldn't have even bothered with sleep since he was still probably on New York time. A returned text of _I'm awake. Why are you?_ beeped its presence a moment later. She returned a message saying she was in bed but didn't want to disobey orders. She put the phone on silent, even though that wasn't the source of her distraction, and put it back on her nightstand.

She shifted in the silk sheets for another two hours before giving up. Throwing on a pair of sweats, she asked JARVIS if anyone else was awake. "Sir is in his workshop," the artificial intelligence answered.

Natasha padded to the elevator and traveled down to the floor where Tony performed his personal research and development. When she looked in through the wall of glass, his back was to her and his hands were manipulating a glowing grid structure in the air. She keyed in her password and was mildly surprised to gain entrance. Even in his most distracted of states, Tony always made sure the security protocols would only allow those he was wanted in his precious workspace.

She approached him slowly and tried to make her footfalls heavy so as not to surprise him. She'd receive a gauntlet to the face for that once, repulsors whining and waiting for a release of energy. He turned at the sound of her and gave her a nod for a greeting while rattling off a new list of specifications for the Mark VI suit. Natasha moved around him and sank down into the worn and overstuffed couch.

"What time is it?" Tony asked once he was done giving out instructions to JARVIS and the bots.

"Four in the morning."

He nodded before scrunching up his face. "Wednesday?"

"Thursday."

Tony shrugged. "I was close. What's up, Buttercup?" he asked as he plopped down on the couch next to her.

"Can't sleep."

He waved his arms to encompass the spacious room. "Welcome to The Workshop: insomnia is our native tongue." He paused to sniff a smoothie Dummy had wheeled over to give him. It apparently didn't smell lethal since he downed a good portion of it in a couple of large swallows. "You want to talk about it or are you going to be all secret Soviet spy tonight?" She glared at him in response. "Secret Soviet spy it is." He leaned his head back into the cushions and closed his eyes. Natasha knew better than to be fooled by his appearance, even though Stark may have appeared in that moment to be relaxed and approaching sleep, she knew the wheels in his head never stopped turning.

"Back to working on the suits?" she asked.

He nodded. "Almost two months later, and I still can't make heads or tails of what I was thinking or designing during my Loki-magic-binge-of-geniusness."

Natasha looked down to pick some invisible lint off of her sweatpants. "Do you think it would be better to still have those designs or to forget them in case they turned out to be something… something you wouldn't want to put out into the world?"

Tony rolled his head to the right to give her a skeptical look. "Okay, I'm going to pretend how that question is so obviously not about me and just play along." He paused to sigh and run a hand down his face. "I don't know, Natasha. I've made things in the past that have brought harm to people." He stopped to roll his eyes. "Obviously, with the whole, you know, weapons thing. But I mean I've made things that have put people I care about—Pepper, Rhodey, Happy—in danger. Because of something I've created, their lives were threatened.

"I've looked through the schematics of what I designed over those three days and I can't say which way the scales would tip. It's entirely possible that my powers would have been used for good. But there are a couple of pieces on the designs that make me wonder…

"But I also know what it's like to have all that almost completely ripped from your mind. To be in the place where there's only enough memories left to tease you, and not in the fun way. In a way that you're pretty sure is one day going to drive you crazy. Well—crazier than you already are."

He paused to regain his eye contact with her. "Whichever way you're hoping things will turn out, just be careful what you wish for, okay?"


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTES:** First of all, ginormous thanks to Kate (aka **the-wordbutler**) for not only stepping up and acting as beta, but for the overflowing words of encouragement about my writing. And for making you ship Natasha and Steve? You're welcome. Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off of you and for helping my sentences be less of a giant, clunky mess.

* * *

Three days after her late night lecture from Tony, Natasha was interrupted from reading through reports of the latest skirmish by her door chime. She gave permission for the person to enter and an exhausted Steve Rogers stumbled through her door. He was in his civvies and held his go bag in his left hand. "Hi," he greeted weakly.

She waved him inside as she rose from the couch. "You just get home?" He nodded as he sat his bag down in an empty chair. "Did you sleep at all while you were gone?"

He shook his head. "I stayed up the first night because I was still adjusting to time zones. I'd only been asleep for a couple of hours the next night when the other guys in the safehouse woke me up." She arched an eyebrow at him when his explanation stopped and he sighed and gave a slight eye roll. "Remember how I said I could… feel things? In my dreams? Like people are actually there and I can touch them?" Natasha nodded and had a feeling she knew where the conversation was going. "I was dreaming about Peggy and I was apparently moaning—loudly."

As she walked up to stand in front of him she saw a mixture of emotions cross across his face: embarrassment, want, and loneliness. She raised her right hand to rest gently on his cheek, but he turned his face away with a grimace, so she lifted her other hand and to rest on his other cheek. Natasha forced him to look into her eyes and gave him a soft smile. "Those other guys? They were probably just jealous." A corner of his mouth tugged up a little, but that was all the response she got out of him. "And your dreams always pick up right where you left off, so you haven't slept more than two hours in five days, I'm guessing. That's a stretch, even for you."

"I know," he quietly admitted. "I need to sleep, but don't want to stay that way for too long. Maybe two hours?"

She nodded. "I can do that. You want to borrow my bed? You look like you're about to collapse."

Steve shook his head. "That's not necessary. My bed is three floors up. I can make it that far, but thank you for the offer."

"Not a problem. It would've been more of a benefit for me. I've been needing the motivation to change my sheets."

He rolled his eyes and made his way towards his bag and then the door. "Two hours, Romanoff." He paused and turned back to her. "No matter how hard I fight, wake me up."

"I promise," she answered.

As Steve left her quarters, she heard the email notification on her phone ping. Natasha crossed the room and picked up the device. The message was from Coulson, giving her the option of sitting in meetings with Fury and Hill or acting as Clint's handler on an easy mission from the safety of SHIELD headquarters. Without hesitation, she responded with a note saying she would take second option. Coulson's response came back to her twenty seconds later in a message with the subject title _Like You Would Actually Volunteer for Meetings_.

She transferred the message to a tablet and began skimming the mission information. Natasha immediately recognized the fact that it looked like a walk through the park. Barton would be acting as backup for Sitwell, who was going to Mexico City to meet a contact from the underground Los Tiburones crew. The archer would be responsible for taking out whoever Sitwell was meeting with if things went south, but since the contacts weren't all too trusting of others—naturally—he wouldn't be on comms.

Natasha flipped through the information to refresh her memory on Sitwell's personal choice of hand gestures. In that section of the pre-op packet, there was a note about how the button closest to the cuff of his right dress shirt sleeve would be left very loose. If things went really bad, he'd subtly tug it free and let it fall to the ground, and that would be Barton's signal to take the others out. Natasha paused to think about what Coulson thought of that particular tactic; he'd probably shake his head and hang it in shame.

She continued perusing and memorizing the details given. Once that was done, she had JARVIS display a holographic map of the area where the meeting would take place. She manipulated the projection until she felt comfortable tagging three alternate locations where Clint could make his perch if the one he'd specified already didn't work out. Odds were that the archer had already done the same; odds were even better they were the same places Natasha chose.

Her internal clock rang its alarm bells and she looked up from the projection to the clock hanging above her couch. The time read exactly two hours after Steve had left her quarters. She debated which way to go about waking him and decided to start out with a text message. _Good dreams?_ she sent.

His response came a few minutes later. _ No. Good dreams have the possibility of becoming reality._

* * *

Thirty-six hours later, Natasha sat in a quiet corner in the main control room of SHIELD headquarters. Even though the organization monitored the world at all hours of the day, the third shift was still the lightest rotation, and Natasha was grateful for the calm.

Her eyes flicked over the monitors she had set up for herself. The main one was a feed from a pin camera Barton placed a few hours ago that gave the best angle of Sitwell waiting to meet his contact. There were three other smaller screens just to the right that showed other views of the meeting point. And to the right of the main screen were the typical bio readouts provided by sensors in Barton's tactical vest.

"There's a street vendor a block away selling tacos," the archer commented over the comms. "If these guys don't show in the next five minutes, I'm calling it and getting food."

Natasha groaned into her headset. "Please do not bring up food right now."

"Bad day?" he asked quietly.

"It was fine until Bruce decided to make curry for dinner after the kitchen still smelled like tuna from Cap's lunch."

"You could smell what Rogers made for lunch?"

"I can smell everything right now. So anytime you want to start showering with greater frequency, it would be appreciated."

"Since you don't have eyes on me right now, just know that I'm flipping you off." Barton paused and then his voice came back, this time in a tighter tone. "Target's in sight."

Natasha's eyes moved to the smaller screens to confirm his observation. Sitwell's contact was approaching the meeting site in the middle of the three men. She didn't recognize the faces of the other two men flanking the contact, but from their girth Natasha's assumed they were the security detail. Her suspicions were confirmed when Sitwell's man, Jose Menendez, flicked an index finger in Jasper's direction and the large man on the left stepped out and began checking the SHIELD agent for weapons or wires, of which he had none.

Satisfied, Jose and Sitwell began their conversation, and Nat wished that the SHIELD agent would've let them but up some sort of listening device in the alley. Sitwell had argued that the guys would sweep for bugs, and after spending the last seven months luring this portion of the Mexican mafia into trusting him, he didn't want what progress he'd made ruined by lying about the presence of listening devices.

Natasha zoomed in on the main screen to get a better look at Sitwell's hands. She leaned back in her chair to take in all the monitors and felt a small smile creep at the corners of her mouth. This was the first time she felt like she was part of an op in a month. Her body felt calm despite the buzz in her nerves. She'd missed this, and even though she knew that this particular mission was one that any of them could do in their sleep, she was grateful for the opportunity to be on the team.

Natasha caught the twitch in the pinky finger of Sitwell's right hand at the same time Barton did. "Could be a nervous tic," Natasha offered. "That's not one of his designated signals. Hold."

"Copy," he answered. From the flatness in his voice Natasha knew that, regardless of whether it was just a simple involuntary muscle movement on Sitwell's end, Barton was standing in the shadows above with three arrows notched and primed for release.

Her body thrummed on the tension as if it was the string of his bow. She realized she not only missed missions, she missed missions with him. They'd been working together for nearly six years now and part of her life felt incomplete without working at his side.

The two agents silently watched Sitwell carry out his meeting with the three members of the Tiburones crew. Ten minutes later, Menendez and his men shook hands with Sitwell and went about their way. Natasha knew she didn't need to give the order for Barton to keep an eye on their retreat; he already would. She waited another fifteen minutes to make sure the scene was clear before calling things. She heard him start to pack up his gear over the comms as she watched Sitwell move around the alley to collect the cameras Barton had set up until he pulled the final one and her last visual feed went dead. From there she had to rely on the sounds coming across Barton's comms to piece together what was happening.

She heard him walk across the roof, the sounds of his boots on a metal fire escape, and then finally greeting Sitwell in the alley below. "Did he get what he wanted?" Natasha asked.

She heard Barton repeat her question before Sitwell's voice carried over onto the comm. "I got it. Fury isn't going to like the news about the new Mexican President, though."

"Does Fury ever really like anything?" Barton asked.

Natasha ignored the joke. "You two make your way to the safehouse. Extraction is set for oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. See you when you get home."

* * *

It was a week later that the nightmares began, which was also three days after Steve showed up at her quarters in the middle of the night with an exhausted grin on his face. "I'm not dreaming anymore," he told her. He shrugged and threw a quick glance at her stomach with a silent question written on his face. Natasha took the hint and asked JARVIS for a scan, but the AI confirmed that she was still in fact pregnant. Steve's face fell a little at that. "Maybe it will happen soon."

It hadn't. Instead, Natasha found herself having to come to grips with the idea that this thing might not disappear in the night leaving only bits of memories in its wake. And she was left with the nightmares, the dreams of her past coming back to haunt her.

She was losing sleep; it was a compromise she was willing to make in exchange to keep the faces of her victims out of her sight. Natasha could feel the effects wearing on her, and she knew she was going to have to eventually give in to slumber. She just hoped it wouldn't involuntarily happen at the morning meeting the team was gathered for. Coulson was droning on about recent repairs finished from a fight with some college professor's experiment when Clint kicked her under the table. She gave a subtle nod of thanks to him, but it did nothing to erase the worry on his face. She slid her hand a few centimeters along the table—_leave it alone_, she signaled.

"No, I don't think I will," Clint said aloud, causing all eyes to turn on him. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"We're in the middle of a meeting, Barton," she ground out. "I'm not talking about this right now."

"Like any of you, other than Rogers, were listening anyway," Coulson said. "What's going on, Natasha?"

She turned her focus to a spot on the conference table and picked at it with red nails while she ground her jaw. Granted, the people around her hadn't been too prying or overprotective of her since Loki attacked. They'd kept a respectable distance, only poking and prodding into her very personal life in a few instances. She supposed she could return the favor with being open in answering the question. Well, somewhat open. "I keep having nightmares. And it's easier to stay awake than live in those places again."

"Are they like mine were?" Steve asked with concern.

"No. That would require me to have a part of my past that I would enjoy reliving." She lifted her eyes to look at Clint. "Three days ago it was Kirovsk, two nights ago involved Tolyatti, and last night—" She paused to sigh and try and gather her words. "I don't even know what last night was. It could've been an actual mission they sent me on, or it might be some memories. And if they are memories, then who the hell knows if they're real or something they brainwashed me into believing actually happened." Clint didn't say anything, didn't need her to elaborate. He knew enough about her past to understand the references. His eye contact didn't waver; he didn't offer hollow words of pity. He knew what it was like to deal with a past that contained darkness.

But the others were not as familiar with her history as Clint was. "What do these visions represent?" Thor asked.

"Old missions the Black Widow was tasked by the KGB," Coulson answered for her.

She knew by doing so he was offering an out. One look at him and he would break out the _I will tazer you if you ask another question_ tone of voice and move everybody along their way, but this was one of the few times Natasha knew better than to run and hide. "During the first mission, I was sent to deal with a scientist who had fled with his family. I tracked them to the outskirts of Kirovsk where they were living in an abandoned home."

"You killed him?" asked Tony.

She nodded. "After his wife and three children."

"And Tolyatti?" Thor asked.

"That would be the children's hospital your brother reminded me of during our little chat. The doctor there was doing testing on some of the patients for the KGB. Once he fulfilled his scientific promises, neither he nor his experiments were needed any longer. The fire took care of that."

"Were other children also killed in the fire?" Steve asked.

She felt her shoulders rise at the implication. "Because his 'experiments' weren't children anymore? They were just lab rats? If someone had murdered me when I was ten, are you saying it would've been excusable?"

"That's not what I meant," Steve said in a hard tone. "I'm just having trouble believing that you would let there be so much collateral damage. You're not that kind of person."

"I'm not now. Then? I worked for a government that didn't care. There was a job to be done, and I was tool that could be used to accomplish it. That's all that mattered."

"I will assume," Thor said, "that your vision from last night was also one about children, was it not?"

Visions of small, young faces cast in red light danced in Natasha's eyes again. She shook her head to try and clear the thoughts. "Something like that."

"I am sorry," the Asgardian apologized. "The dreams relate to your fears to your current state. This is my brother's doing. I fear I am unable to make him see the folly of his ways and rectify the situation. But if it is your desire for this magical hold on you to end, I would be willing to return to Asgard to find someone to aid in the matter."

It wasn't the first time he'd made the offer, but it was the first time Natasha felt sure about telling him no. Her thoughts on why this whole thing had happened to her—other than Loki seeking vengeance—shifted depending on the day. On good days, it was a chance to fulfill a wish she never thought possible since the enhancements the KGB performed on her body left her sterile, and since becoming a mother was therefore an impossibility, she'd buried the hope deep inside. On days like this, where her past came back to haunt her, she wondered if this was some form of karma for all the children she'd done harm.

"No, but thank you for the offer."

"Why are you going through with this?" Bruce asked.

She looked at him and almost regretted it instantly. The man had a way of staring straight into your soul. He would lull you into a place of comfort with his soft voice and then drop a realization on you that would force you to stagger upright in order to hold your ground. Natasha knew that was coming and mentally braced herself for it. "I have red in my ledger."

"So this is a means of paying your debt? That's stupid and selfish, Natasha."

"I just—" She paused to string together the right words. Bruce's assumption was correct, and she needed to appease him, because she didn't want to lose respect in his eyes. Truth was the simplest answer, and while she usually avoided sharing that in its entirety, right now it was the only words she seemed able to find. "I need to know if I can do something good in my life. There's not a single one of you at this table who wouldn't want to prove the same thing. Why do you think we're all here?"

"I'm just saying, it's a lot of pressure on a kid to be brought into the world to prove something," he answered.

"I didn't get a choice in the matter, if you recall," she countered. "And instead of focusing on that, I'm going to try and make the best of it. No one in their right mind would classify me as mother material, but if I can somehow use this to make amends, to put a little bit of light back into a world I've had a hand in making incredibly dark, then I'm going to take it."

Bruce stared her down for a moment more before nodding. "If that's the case, you'll need help. And you'll need rest."

She felt herself bristle, but any comment she was going to make was cut off by a threat from Thor. "Do not make the folly of a stubborn warrior who believes he does not need his shield brothers and sisters to see victory, for rarely do they get to drink mead from a victor's cup."

"What do you suggest then, someone on nightmare duty every night?"

"There's enough of us, and by that I mean all of us, who get beat up from insomnia often enough," Tony offered.

Steve nodded. "We could make a rotation." He looked around the table. "Each of us pick a day of the week?"

"Wait a minute," Clint interrupted with a frown, "why do Phil and I have to each take a night? That's twice as many chances for you jerks to interrupt our sleep and invade our quarters. Unfair."

"Price you pay for being in a healthy relationship," Bruce said.

"Nope, not a healthy relationship. Tell them, Phil. We are messed up people; therefore, that logic does not apply to us and we should only be assigned one night."

Coulson rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Barton," he sighed as he finished his quick and rough outline of a weekly schedule. "Thor, I'm going to assume you want Thursday?"

"Aye. 'Tis my day of honor."

"I'll take Tuesday. I'm usually not too drunk on Tuesdays," Tony commented.

"If we have to take two days, neither of them are going to be on the weekend," Clint argued. "We'll take Monday and Wednesday."

"Saturday is fine with me," Bruce offered.

"I'll volunteer for Sunday," said Steve.

Natasha shook her head. "This isn't necessary. If I have a nightmare, I'll just ask JARVIS to tell me who's awake and go hunt them down."

"And if none of us are?" Tony asked without bothering to let her answer. "That's why there should be a system in place, to account for all possible outcomes. Jesus, you'd make an awful engineer. And, besides, maybe some of want an excuse to crawl into your bed once a week."

She glared at him. "I dare you to try."

Tony's response to realize what he just said and swivel his chair-and hips-away from her direction as a measure of self-defense.

"Natasha isn't responsible for a day, Stark. That defeats the whole purpose. We'll set up a rotation for Fridays," Coulson said while shooting a look at Clint to keep him from complaining about the possibility of being on duty for three nights in a week.

"That won't be necessary," Steve said. "I'll take it." He turned his eyes to Natasha. "I owe you a few favors after what you've done for me the last few weeks."

Tony swiveled his chair back to face Natasha. "Are they going to be sexual favors?" he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. Her foot shot out towards his before he saw it move. "Ow! Dammit, I need my toes."

Coulson sighed before wrapping things up. "Anything else? No? Get out of here; try not to destroy anything in your free time."


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTES:** Thank you, Kate, for the beta.

* * *

Natasha felt guilty for taking advantage of her teammates' generosity with their newly-implemented Nightmare Duty schedule, but the guilt didn't stop her from using it on some nights. The first time she'd given in was the time she felt the most uncomfortable. It was Bruce's night, and when he opened the door to his quarters, it was obvious he'd been in a deep sleep. She then remembered he'd been absent from meals for the last couple of days and concluded he'd just finished a long series of experiments in his lab and probably hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in a while. "I'll just go—" she'd started, but was cut off when he loosely wrapped one hand around her left wrist and gently tugged her inside. Wordlessly, he pointed to one of the two couches in the living room before moving off to his bedroom.

He came back a moment later with pillows and extra blankets. "I'd offer you my bed, but I can't remember the last time I changed the sheets," he said, voice thick with sleep. "You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head no and quietly thanked him as she took a pillow and afghan from him. Bruce stretched out on the other couch in the living space, and the two silently spread blankets over their bodies and adjusted themselves into a comfortable position. She laid there for a few minutes, memorizing how the lights reflected from the city below played on the ceiling. "Bruce?" she called quietly and received a muffled noise in response. "Do you remember what happens to you when you're him?"

Bruce rolled onto his back with a sigh. "No. Not really. I'll get flashes sometimes. But that's it."

"How do you know if the memories are real?"

He paused before answering her. "I don't. But I do know that whatever I see in those images—the damage that was done—it wasn't my fault because I wasn't the one in control."

She turned her head to study him in the dark. "You really believe that?"

He smiled a little. "No, but I'm trying to."

Another night she'd fallen back asleep on one of Thor's oversized and overstuffed chaise lounges listening to him describe the landscape of Asgard. And the following week, she'd used Tony's ceaseless rambling about calculations and efficiencies to JARVIS and the bots in order to lull her to sleep on the couch in his workshop.

The first week of March saw the end of her first trimester and the confirmation that this magic wasn't going to fade. The night those two things became official, both in reality and in her mind, she didn't even bother trying to sleep. Instead she grabbed an unopened bottle of premium vodka and two glasses and headed for Clint and Coulson's floor.

Clint was the one opened the door. His eyes caught on the objects in her hands, and he hung his hand in resignation with a vicious swear.

"What's wrong?" Phil called from further into their quarters.

"Natasha needs a proxy drunk," Clint answered as he moved out of the way so she could walk into their common room.

Phil stepped out of the kitchen with a carton of leftover Chinese in one hand and chopsticks in the other. He pointed the latter Natasha's direction. "You get him drunk, you're the one who's going to put him to bed. I'm too tired to deal with his handsiness tonight."

"You weren't complaining about my hands this morning."

"That was before I knew they were going to make me late for everything for the rest of the day," Phil shot back.

Natasha ignored them both and sat at the end of the dining room table that was clear of files and paperwork. She placed the two crystal tumblers on the table and poured a shot in one. She raised an eyebrow at Phil. "I'll have _one_," he answered. She nodded and filled the second glass before pushing them across the table to the men who took seats next to and across from her.

"Do I at least get to find out why it's necessary for me to get wasted tonight?" Clint asked.

"Why do you think?" Natasha answered in a harsh tone.

Clint ground his jaw but took the shot anyway. Phil took his seconds later, and once they were both done cringing and huffing air through their nostrils, the handler announced he would be in his private office, working on paperwork. "And try not to kill him," he added.

"I'll keep him on the safe side of alcohol poisoning. Barely."

"Ugh, I'm so unbelievable screwed, aren't I?" Clint moaned.

"Quit whining," she chided as she poured another shot and pushed it in front of him.

He pushed it back in front of her. "Nope, I need to at least be able to have some sort of defense against your vodka onslaught. We're playing Drink the Truth."

She gave him a look. "I can't drink. That's why you're doing it for me."

"You can have shots of water."

"I have to pee often enough these days, thanks."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're making it sound like it would be easy for me to detect your truths. Guess you're going soft in more ways than one." She spat a Russian curse at him as she rose from the table to grab a clean shot glass and a flask of water from the kitchen.

Drink the Truth was a game they'd developed years ago. It was how they got to know each other, and how they each learned the other's tells. The premise was simple: you made a statement about the other person; if the statement was true, they took a shot, and if you were wrong, you were the one who had to drink. Whoever was still awake when the alcohol was finished was declared the winner.

"Go," she ordered as she poured herself a shot of water.

Clint leaned back in his chair and began to scrutinize her face. "You've been acting like you'd be okay with this whole thing fading away, but really it would wreck you."

She pursed her lips and traced the rim of her shot glass with her index finger as she weighed his words. Giving into the truth, she took her shot and poured another. "My turn," she declared.

The best and worst part about this game was that Clint and Natasha knew too much about each other. They'd fought for, against, and with each other. They'd sparred, screwed, and spent too many hours pushing the other's buttons; they each knew exactly where the other's soft spots lay. "The real reason you threw a fit about having exes come join the team wasn't because you were worried about them swapping stories with your boyfriend. It was because you were worried they'd bring their bad relationship ju-ju or whatever back around, and you'd be unable to do anything but screw things up with Phil."

He flipped her off while taking his shot. "The reason you hate the magic not wearing off is because if something goes wrong now, it's your fault and no one else's."

She glared him down while taking her shot. "You've never told Phil 'I love you.'" She watched Clint lean back in his chair with a smug smile, but she raised an index finger to hold off his silent bragging. "Immediately before, during, or after sex doesn't count." It was then Natasha's turn to lean back in a chair with a grin when Clint took his shot.

He shook his head as he refilled his glass. "Okay. We're playing it that way. When you wake up in the morning, the first thing you think about where you're going to run away and hide to raise this kid."

"Nope."

"Oh, c'mon," he cried as he had to take a drink. "Ugh, it tastes like burning."

"The first thing I think about in the morning is, 'Don't puke.'" She shrugged and went back to running her finger along the rim of her glass. "Besides, I know, as crazy as it may sound since it's Stark's tower that we're living in, but this may very well be the safest spot on the planet right now.

"My turn again," she continued. "You think you're unworthy of Phil."

"Nope. I _know_ I'm unworthy. There's a difference—drink up." He used a sigh to buy him some time to plan his next challenge. "You're worried you're going to screw the kid up royally."

She rolled her eyes before taking her a second drink within a minute. "I didn't know we were going the obvious route."

He leaned forward in his seat. "Natasha, parents screw their kids up all the time. Pretty sure it's the definition of parenting. It's normal."

"Since when are people like us ever normal? And it's my turn." She paused to look him over in order to find another weak spot. "You still have nightmares about being under Loki's control."

Clint snorted. "Who's taking the obvious route now?" he asked before downing another shot. "It's killing you not knowing who the father is."

Natasha threw back another drink of water and sighed. "What's the betting pool looking like on that one?"

"What makes you think there's a pool?"

Natasha leaned forward. "When I'm not in the room, I'm all you boys talk about." Clint cringed and drank his shot causing her to roll her eyes. "You guys are the worst gossips alive."

"Thank God you didn't let me have a turn. That shot would've been too hard to deny as truth."

"You didn't answer my question."

Clint ran his hand over his face, a well-known stalling tactic in Natasha's eyes. "I put money on Bruce."

She felt her eyebrows knit together at his statement. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Thought it'd be nice if the two people who can't have kids had one together."

"And everyone else?"

"Steve and Bruce refused to participate. Tony's betting on me. Thor said Steve. And that's just our personal pool. You know there's another, larger pot for the rest of the SHIELD agents."

"Put my bet on Loki, no matter what Thor says," she told him in a cold and quiet voice.

"I'm not the only one having nightmares about him having control over the rest of my life?"

Natasha saluted him with her glass before taking her shot.

An hour later, Natasha helped Clint aim his fall for the mattress. He'd put a sizeable dent into her bottle, and she was going to have to owe him big time for the hangover he'd volunteered for in the morning. "Thank God you love me," she told him, and she meant it.

"I do. Dunno why. You're mean t'me."

She was in the process of unlacing his boots when Phil came into the bedroom. "You staying the night?" he asked Natasha.

She shook her head. "I think I've disturbed enough of your evening."

He waved off the comment. "It's late. Staying down here won't hurt anything."

Natasha sat on the foot of the bed and weighed her options, but was distracted at the sight of Phil removing his dress shirt and pulling on a well-worn SHIELD t-shirt. "Your scars didn't come back?"

He nodded. "Yours isn't the only body that didn't have the magic spell fade. No more scars, no more residual pain."

"He can swim his laps again," Clint slurred. "He's s'happy as a fish in a clam."

Phil rolled his eyes. "How badly did you break him?"

"I've left him in worse conditions before, and we both know it." Her comment caused Phil to shake his head as he grabbed a pillow from his side of the bed along with a spare blanket. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Couch. I swore to myself after Munich that I'd never voluntarily share a bed with both of you if I could help it. Besides, when he's had this much to drink, he snores like a chainsaw. Have fun with that." Phil leaned over the bed to give Clint a quick kiss good night that was immediately followed by slapping away greedy fingers. "Handsy," Phil muttered as he left the room.

Clint chuckled before turning back to Natasha. "You gonna stay? You could stay. I don't think you want to. I think you wanted to get me passed out drunk 'cuz you're mean and then run away."

"I thought we were done with the game."

"Shot!" Clint cried out in victory.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Where are your clean clothes?"

"Take Phil's. You steal mine and never give 'em back. I think you have half my closet is in yours."

"Normal people would buy new clothes at some point." Clint blew a raspberry at her in response. She shook her head and dug through drawers until she found a shirt she was sure belonged to Clint because of the holes in it and a pair of jersey shorts with _BARTON_ scrawled into the waistband with a permanent marker. "You write your name in your clothes? What are you, a college student?"

"No, just know vicious redheads who steal things."

She exchanged her ever-tightening jeans, top, and bra for Clint's clothes and crawled into the bed. Natasha was barely settled between the sheets before an arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her against Clint's body. "Seriously?"

"I'm cuddly when drunk. And since you got me this way, it's really your own fault."

She sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to calm her mind enough to sleep but was distracted Clint's hand wandering down her torso and then creeping back up towards her chest. "Unless you want to lose that hand, I suggest you keep it still."

"Sorry. Just wanted to see what's changed."

"You could ask, idiot."

"I'm a tactile learner. Blame the booze and again, therefore, yourself. And don't tell Phil."

"I wouldn't tell him. I'd tell Cap."

"No, God, please don't do that. He'd cut my hand off with his shield like it's one of those—" He pulled his hand away from her body and out from under the sheets to swing it up and down in the air. "One of those things that go _shonk_ and cut of your head."

"Guillotine?"

"Yeah, that. Only it'd be my hand and not my head, which would be sad because I like my hand better."

"Clint?"

"Hmmm?"

"Shut up and sleep."

"Mmmkay," he answered, snuggling back up against her.

"And keep your hands to yourself."

"Fine. But that means I'm going to steal all of the covers."

"What's new?"

The room was silent for a moment before Clint took in a breath. "Tasha?"

"What?" she sighed.

"You may be a mean, vicious, evil ginger, but you're still going to be a good mom even if you haven't realized it yet."

* * *

A few days later, Natasha spent the evening in her quarters looking over data from a fight that started the night before and went on into the early hours of the morning. It had spanned over several areas of New York and required assistance from both some of the new recruits to the team—Carol Danvers and Bobbi Morse—as well as a few members of the X-Men. The rest of the day had been spent bouncing back and forth between meetings to assess collateral damage and checking in on Clint and Tony, who had spent a few hours in medical due to injuries.

She paused in reading Coulson's debrief when the chime sounded. "Come in," she called out.

Steve walked into her quarters with a tablet in his hand. "Wanted to give you a copy of my report before calling it a night."

"Thanks," she answered with an outstretched hand to accept it. "How did you think it went today?"

He shrugged. "Not too awful considering the circumstances. Today was the first time I felt like I had a good handle on how Mockingbird moves in combat. That made things easier. Although I'd like it better if she and Barton stopped sniping at each other so much on comms."

"That's never going to happen."

Steve nodded. "Danvers is a good option to have, just don't tell her that I think she's a little intimidating."

"Only a little?"

He smiled. "She does outrank me, so part of that feeling of terror she inspires in me is somewhat natural, I suppose. But neither of them are you."

"There are some other Black Widows out there somewhere; I could track one or two down to add to the rotation list if it would make you feel better."

"I don't think Tony would ever take off a suit if there were multiple Black Widows prowling around New York."

She watched him stick his hands in the pockets of his khakis and rock back and forth gently on his feet. "Do you need something else?"

"Just to ask you your least favorite question."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Have you slept at all in the last day?"

"Coulson made me nap for a couple of hours on the couch in his office this afternoon."

"Good. Have you eaten dinner?"

Natasha shook her head. "No, but that actually does sound good right now."

"Your nausea isn't as bad?"

"Somewhat, finally. I'd forgotten what it feels like not to be queasy all of the time."

"How does that Vietnamese place sound?" he asked.

"Fantastic."

"Good," he said as he moved to step back out into the hallway. He returned a moment later carrying a couple of paper bags that immediately filled Natasha's quarters with the smells of spicy goodness. "I may have ordered half of the menu. Haven't really had a chance to eat anything today. Pick whatever you want."

She felt a small smile cross her face as she watched him lay out the bags' contents on the kitchen counter. "What if I'd said I wasn't hungry?"

Steve shrugged. "I would've had whatever was left over as a midnight snack."

Natasha shook her head as she pulled a pair of plates from the cabinet. They dished out food and then moved back to the couch where Steve recounted his point of view of the battle in between bites. Whenever he was too busy inhaling his food as politely as possible, Natasha took her turn to speak and made observations and suggestions about how future cross-team operations could be improved. Once she'd finished her plate and Steve had finished his third, he grabbed their dishes and began to clean up their mess. She started to rise and follow him, but he told her to stay put. "It must be nice," she commented, "to eat as much as you do and still look like that."

Steve smiled. "It is nice, especially since my suit isn't too forgiving."

"You should try mine sometime."

He laughed. "Have you, umm, with your stomach? The bump or whatever people call it now?"

She crinkled her face in confusion. "Are you asking me if I've started showing yet?"

"Poorly, yes."

"No. I guess the parasite isn't big enough just yet." Steve quirked a blond eyebrow at her in response to her comment. "What?" she asked.

"I've just never heard you refer to it as something—anything—before."

She turned her focus to her fingernails. "Seems like it's going to stick around, so I might as well try and wrap my brain around things."

"Have you thought of names yet or anything?"

"Baby steps, Rogers," she ordered before cringing. "Pun not intended."

He smiled. "Do you want any of this?" he asked sweeping a hand over the food. She got up from the couch and crossed the room to the counter. She sniffed around at the cartons before selecting a couple to stash in her refrigerator. Steve began to load the rest of them up in one of the paper bags the food was delivered in. "You going to be okay? Sleeping, I mean. It's my night after all."

"I think I'm too exhausted to dream tonight. That's the hope, anyway."

"Well, if that doesn't work out, you know where I am."

"I promise to come up and make you sing me a lullaby to go back to sleep if things don't go as planned," she said.

Steve grimaced. "Pretty sure my singing would make your dreams worse, not better."


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES:** Thank you, **Kate**, for the beta. Also, references to kitchen appliances with AIs is a nod to **scifigrl47**'s amazing fic. She is the creator of Calcifer, and I'm just paying homage.

* * *

Natasha rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Let's look at this from a different angle."

"We've tried that already," Coulson sighed.

"There has to be a better way to get Bruce inside than this," she commented as she looked over the building's schematic for the millionth time that night. She and Coulson were in her quarters, attempting to plot an operation to smuggle an unstable compound out of a university in Thailand and swap it with a similar substance. The replacement material would behave the same way as its volatile counterpart, except for that whole bit about not making a gigantic explosion. It was one way the team was trying to move in a proactive direction instead of waiting until trouble was already out there and threatening civilization. "If not, then I still vote for sending Stark instead."

"Natasha—"

"No, he can pull off the bravado that won't show nerves, he can take the suitcase armor in with him—"

"You honestly don't think they're going to check for that?"

"Let him spend the next couple of days coming up with a stealth version in the workshop. It'll be a better way to spend his time than adding AI interfaces to all the kitchen appliances. Thor almost took out the toaster this morning with Mjolnir for burning his Pop-Tarts."

"Was it seriously rebelling against Thor's poor choice in toaster pastry flavors?" Coulson asked.

"This is what I'm talking about. So instead of letting Tony turn the common kitchen into a breeding ground for future Cylons, let him be the one to go and do this."

Coulson leaned back in his chair and did his best to restrain a smirk. "You realize you just made a _Battlestar Galactica _reference, right?"

Natasha sighed. "I need a break from living with men, especially the science-obsessed ones who have been holding a marathon of that show for the last week."

"You have plenty of vacation days saved, if you want to take them."

Natasha rolled the thought around in her mind for a moment, but shook her head. "Maybe after this op."

Coulson shot her a look. "You do realize that your maternity leave is going to be mandatory, don't you?"

"And you realize that you have no room to criticize about not taking vacations?"

He shrugged. "Touché. Look, it's late. Why don't we get some rest and come back to this in the morning?"

Natasha looked at the clock. It was a little after midnight. Normally, the two of them would just make another pot of coffee and work straight through the night, but not anymore. Coulson had already consumed a couple of cups, and Natasha had stood so close to him just to catch as much of the aroma as possible that the handler had started shooting her looks.

Coulson packed up his files and left. Natasha stared at the research lab's layout a moment longer before her eyes started to cross. With a sigh, she rose from the table and made her way to bed. When she awoke in the morning, she moved back out to the place she was working the night before and asked JARVIS to display the building's schematics again. With a mug of tea in her hand, she munched on some toast while letting her eyes roam over the floating layout. She was in the middle of breakfast when the chime to her door sounded.

"You were right," Coulson announced as he strode in, Stark trailing behind him.

Natasha smiled. "JARVIS, send a copy of that statement to my phone. I might make it my new ringtone."

Tony rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "What do you have for me?"

Natasha tilted her head towards the schematic. "We need you to schedule a lecture at a university in Bangkok in a week's time. While you're there, you're going to sneak into a research lab and confiscate their supply of this." She handed him a tablet with information on the substance. Tony let out a low whistle as he swiped through the information on the screen. "Our thoughts exactly," Natasha commented. "Also, we'll want you to go in with the suitcase armor, but it needs to be discreet. You may need to look that word up in the dictionary."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Not a problem. Am I going in alone?"

"No," Coulson answered. "You'll be paired with Agent Hyusen. She will have the cover as your translator."

"Is she hot?"

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "You do realize I'm having lunch with Miss Potts today, don't you?"

Tony raised his hands in a defensive posture. "I have a reputation to maintain despite my current life change to monogamy. If I show up with someone unattractive, it's going to be conspicuous."

"Sadly, he does kind of have a point," Natasha agreed.

A week later, Tony had the new-and-improved suitcase armor ready for deployment. At the moment, he was on his private jet en route to Bangkok while Natasha moved into temporary quarters on the Helicarrier to oversee the mission. Coulson, Clint, and Steve flew into Thailand the day before to hide out in a safehouse in case things went south and they needed to be brought in as backup.

Tony was scheduled for a three day trip. The first two days included schmoozing both at the university and at a bioengineering company Stark Industries was feigning interest in. The actual mission would come into play on day three, with Tony getting out of the country as soon as the unstable compound was in his possession. Natasha would be keeping eyes and ears on him all three days, which required her to flip her internal clock by twelve hours to match the local time in Asia.

The first two days were pleasantly boring: Tony was successful in not drawing too much attention to himself and only hit on Agent Hyusen three times—purely for show, Natasha was certain, because Coulson wasn't the only one with Pepper on speed dial. Then came day three.

Tony gave a lecture about clean energy and how his company was revolutionizing the field that was full of terms and theories that Natasha didn't even bother trying to understand. At lunch, Tony—who had made the mistake of bragging earlier about how he could handle nearly any cuisine the world could throw at him—was nearly overtaken by a hidden pepper in his meal. Natasha had to mute the mic on her headset so her snort of laughter wouldn't carry over to the comms hidden in Stark and Hyusen's ears. She knew Tony would exact retribution if he caught her mocking him.

The tour of the facility followed lunch. Natasha stood from her chair not only to stretch tight muscles but to keep a better eye on the screens in front of her. Two monitored Tony and Hyusen's individual vitals, another showed the view from the hidden camera in Tony's tie clip, and yet another came from a camera embedded in Agent Hyusen's glasses. Natasha listened as the SHIELD agent tried to keep up with translating Tony's constant talking to the professors. His hidden camera showed he was making a slow lap around the lab, his hands a steady flurry of motion in the shot as his fingers swirled in the air with his words or reached out to skim along surfaces and buttons. His movements paused for just a split second as he spotted his target.

This was another reason Natasha wanted Tony on this op instead of Bruce. Clint was by far the most nimble with his fingers on the team when it came to performing sleight of hand tricks, but Tony could give him a decent run for his money. The target in question was a small tube filled with a pale yellow powder. Natasha knew Tony had a similar vial hidden away in a well-placed pocket sewn into his custom made suit jacket. She watched as Tony began another circle around the room while rattling off statistics of how his company had plans to build a dozen towers around the world similar to the one the Avengers currently called home, and the decrease in energy strains the various municipalities would see because of the self-sustaining design. By this time, as he was approaching the target once more, Natasha was able to catch him extract the dummy vial and place it within the sleeve of his suit jacket. With a flurry of movement, the target was switched out with the non-volatile substance and Tony had the unstable compound tucked away in the secret pocket. He smoothly kept walking around the room, and Natasha saw Agent Hyusen give him a slight nod in confirmation that it was time to go.

Natasha picked up her cell phone that was resting on the station in front of her and selected Tony's number from her speed dial. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hello gorgeous," Tony answered before cupping a hand over the speaker of his phone. "It's my hot CEO-slash-girlfriend." He paused a split second to direct his attention towards Agent Hyusen. "This could get dirty—don't translate it."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You good to go?"

"Baby, I'm always good. You know that."

"Then get out of there."

"Oh, c'mon, Pep—you can do better than that."

Natasha mentally swore to strangle the man as soon as he was back safely. "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby," she muttered in a tone so dry it made Coulson sound exuberant.

"Sorry, folks, gotta go," Tony announced to the university represents acting as tour guide. "Got to get back home for some booty duty. Laters."

"You're dead meat, Stark. You know that right?" Natasha threatened into the comm in his ear. She watched the pair's view via hidden cameras as they made their way out of the research building and across campus. Moments later, they were whisked away in a black town car driven by another agent. Tony handed over the container he'd swiped from the lab to Agent Hyusen and the two chatted politely about the outcome. Then, everything went dark.

Natasha's spine straightened as she attempted to reboot her screens while calling out for either of them on comms. All she got in return was error messages and silence. She immediately put a call into Coulson to inform them what was happening; that at least earned her some noise in response.

She heard Coulson bellow orders to Rogers to stand by; Cap's response was to rev the engine on his motorcycle on the street below. She heard Clint, who was watching Stark's progress through the city from the rooftop of the safehouse, comment that there were four guys with machine guns pressing in toward the town car, which was half a kilometer away.

"Orders?" Coulson asked her.

Natasha quickly changed her comm channel to a local one. "JARVIS—you there?"

"Yes, Agent Romanoff. I, too, have lost communication with Sir."

"Any idea what's going on?"

"Given data suggests an attack by an EMP, rendering all electronic devices useless."

"Can he still deploy the suit?"

"Negative."

Natasha swore under her breath as she switched back to Coulson's channel. "They're sitting ducks; go get 'em."

"Copy," he answered. She listened to him give orders to the two men under his command and gritted her teeth when they were followed with "Shots fired."

Her mind went into overdrive. One part began to count the seconds until there was a new update, another ran through the specifications of the town car in question (specifically security upgrades to protect against bullets), and a third hoped she wouldn't have to deliver bad news to Pepper.

Tony was the only unarmed person in the car, but there were bound to be spare firearms and, being a former weapons designer, Tony knew how to fire a gun. Cover was minimal. Their best bet would be to stay down in the car, but there was no way to inform them backup was on the way. The windows and door panels would protect them for a minute or two, but then they'd be defenseless. Granted, Tony could still use the briefcase armor as a shield of sorts, but it wasn't big enough to protect his whole body, let alone the other two agents in the car.

And then there was the matter of the volatile substance currently sitting in a car that was being fired on by four different people.

Natasha pulled up demographics for the city block in question and cringed when the results came back. The town car was sitting at an intersection with residences all around. This particular area was home to some of the lower-income population, leaving as many people crammed into as little space as possible.

In between pacing, Natasha continually tried to refresh camera feeds and readouts of vitals to no avail. A few minutes after everything started to go wrong, Coulson's voice came over the line. "Targets are down."

"Status of agents?"

"Barton's signaling three injured. Medevac is thirty seconds out."

"That compound needs stabilized."

"They know; they're on it."

Natasha resumed her pacing for another couple of minutes until Coulson reported that everyone, including himself, was on board a helicopter bound for the airport. Collins, the driver, was in the worst shape; he'd taken a bullet to the shoulder. He'd be flown to a SHIELD station in Tokyo for surgery. Hyusen and Stark both had lacerations on their faces and hands from window glass giving way. The target for the op was safely contained in a briefcase and would be flying back with everyone but Collins to New York.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Coulson had promised before signing off.

Natasha sat back down in her chair and took a moment to calm her thoughts, but it was useless. Knowing she wouldn't be able to think straight to write her debrief, she rose and made her way to the firing range. She needed to burn off energy, and her two options were shooting practice or trying to run laps on the crowded and cramped helicarrier.

She spent the next hour losing herself in firing round after round. The numbness that took over as she gave herself up to the instinct of taking aim and firing was a welcome sensation, and one she'd missed drowning in over the last few months. Once she was finished, she checked her phone. Natasha found a text and an email waiting on her. The email was from Coulson, forwarding a report from Stark Industries about how there was a security threat flagged the day before about a local group gunning for Tony during his stay in Bangkok. The text was from Tony: _I've already talked to Pepper. You're safe._

Natasha felt more relief about the text message than she cared to admit. Her normal go-to whenever Tony found himself in a particularly dangerous situation was to calm down the manic Pepper by sweeping her away to the nearest dive bar and ordering multiple rounds of Jack and Sprites. And since Natasha couldn't drink along with the other redhead, it would make Pepper's non-stop ranting a little more difficult to sit and listen to for a few hours straight. Of course, the ranting would be deserved, but Natasha was concerned a portion of it would be directed at her, and that wasn't something she wanted to deal with.

* * *

Eighteen hours later, Natasha was in medical at headquarters overseeing Hyusen and Tony's med-eval. Coulson told her on the way in that Collins was out of surgery and, other than having to sit at a desk for the next month, would be fine. What little relief Natasha felt at the news was erased when her eyes caught on a patch of black material on the table next to Tony's bed. She shut out the man's complaining about how unnecessary this was while stepping forward and running her hands over the Kevlar vest. Embedded in the upper right and lower left quadrants were bullets.

"Don't tell Pepper," Tony said, and the seriousness in his voice caused Natasha to look at him.

Seeing a serious expression on the man almost seemed unnatural. Lines were on his face that usually only appeared during deep thought, but these were obviously formed by worry. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, and Natasha wasn't sure if that was for his own safety or fear of Pepper finding out the full details of what happened.

"Thank goodness you were wearing the vest."

His mouth kicked up in a bitter grin. "Old habits die hard."

Natasha didn't push at the history that was plainly written in Tony's body language. "If she asks—"

"She won't ask, and you won't tell her. Am I clear?"

Natasha nodded.

"Besides," he continued, "you gonna tell your kid the lurid details of every time you come into harm's way?" She tried to swallow that new thought without letting her mask slip, but was apparently unsuccessful. "Didn't think so."

She stayed quietly in the corner until both of the patients were discharged with relatively clean bills of health. Natasha reminded them to file their reports as soon as they could before catching a silent ride back to the Tower with Tony. The only conversation between the pair was a muttered "G'night" from him as she stepped off the elevator on her personal floor.

Natasha sighed and looked around for a clock. It was nearly four in the morning, but her internal chronometer was still functioning on Bangkok time, not New York's. Hoping a shower would help her relax and eventually get some sleep, she removed her boots and padded to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and began to undress when she noticed it for the first time. Her breath caught in her chest and room seemed to tilt for just a split second. On instinct she put her clothes back on, shut off the water, and began to walk an increasingly familiar path.

Steve opened the door while hiding a yawn but froze when he caught the sight of her. "What's wrong?" he asked hurriedly.

She moved past him and walked into the common room of his apartment. He followed her silently and took a seat on his sofa waiting for her to make the next move. Natasha paced a moment more before stopping in front of him. "You asked whether or not I'd started to show," she said quietly.

His eyes shifted from her, down to her stomach, and then back up with confusion in his face. "You can't be serious."

She took the hem of her shirt in her left hand and the waistband of her pants in her right and pushed them apart to reveal the lowest portion of her abdomen. There, just barely detectable, was the slightest swell.

Natasha watched Steve's hand rise from his lap and freeze halfway to her stomach. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he sputtered as his hand quickly moved back down. "I know better than to touch without permission, really. Sorry."

"It's okay," she answered quietly.

"No it's not. I know you're super private, and that's fine, and—"

"No, I mean: it's okay," she repeated. She didn't know why she was saying it. Men who touched her without her permission usually ended up unable to walk for a few days in the best of circumstances.

It wasn't until Steve's fingertips grazed her skin that she put two and two together: she needed the contact. A small sigh escaped her as his broad hand covered her exposed stomach. And then she caught a look at his face—one that was a mixture of awe and intrigue with a touch of reverence—and laughed a quick breath and shook her curls. He looked up at her in curiosity. "What?"

"Men don't usually have that look on their face when they touch me."

"What do they normally look like?"

She shrugged. "Greedy. Self-centered."

His jaw clinched a moment. "I would never—"

"I know."

His hand dropped away, and she felt cold. She looked down and the world seemed to tilt all over again. Steve's hands shot out to loosely grab her hips as he stood in front of her. "What's wrong? Do you need to go to medical?"

She shook her head and felt hot tears sting her eyes. "I'm a cliché." A puzzled expression crossed his face but he kept quiet. "We could've lost Tony yesterday. And if you ever tell him that he's part of the reason I'm crying, I'll put your serum-enhanced healing time to the test." His hands lifted in a palms-up gesture before hanging back down loosely at his own sides, ready to reach out and steady her again if need be.

"I saw those bullets," she continued. "One could've ripped through his right lung; the other would've torn through his abdomen before probably embedding in his spine. And then he went and asked if I would tell my child," she paused a moment to swallow some pride at not stumbling over that word, "if I ever had a close call. And then I started thinking about what if it wasn't a close call. What if something happens to me."

"Then the rest of us—"

"The rest of you live as dangerously as I do." His face fell at that, and he didn't bother with a rebuttal. "And then I got back to my quarters, looked down, and realized that things can only get fatter from here. So, yes, I have become the cliché pregnant woman: I'm irrationally upset, I'm crying, and I'm pissed I'm going to be losing my waistline." There was also the fear that she would always be alone that was manifesting itself in the need for physical contact again. As well as the sheer terror of now looking down and seeing sure-fire signs of her pregnancy, but her tongue had betrayed her enough in the moment.

Steve stood still for a moment before raising his eyebrows in a silent question. "I'm done," Natasha muttered.

"Okay. First of all, being scared about possibly losing a friend—even one named Stark—is not irrational. Second, when was the last time you cried?"

"The night of Phil's funeral."

Steve nodded. "Not quite a year ago? I'm pretty sure I've cried at least twice since then." Natasha felt the corner of her mouth tug upwards for a second. "And as for the waistline? Natasha, you're living with a group of people, most of whom can't ever have kids, at least not with the person they want. Something amazing as this is worth it, don't you think?"

She chewed her bottom lip for a second before raising her face to meet his eyes for the first time since she started crying. "I still feel ridiculous."

"Try jumping seventy years into the future some time," he said softly. His hands dug into his pockets searching for something. When they didn't find their target, he looked around until he pulled a white square of thin cloth from an end table next to the sofa. He held out the handkerchief for her to take. "It's clean—promise."

She ran her fingers lightly over the _SR_ embroidered in navy before wiping her tears. "You even have monogrammed handkerchiefs?"

He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nah, just have the same initials as the original owner." Before she could press more, he asked, "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"This is the second time you've offered to take me to bed."

His cheeks flushed as he shook his head. "Not what I meant."

Steve's blush was too easy a target for Natasha. "You're saying you wouldn't want to?" she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes with an expression she'd mastered at too young of an age.

The deepened color moved from his cheeks to his eyes. "Not what I said." He held her gaze for a moment, and she was a little taken aback at the honesty and sureness in his demeanor, something she wasn't used to seeing with him, at least not on matters like this. But it only lasted a few seconds before Steve looked down at the ground with another shake of his head. "Look, you don't have to, I was just—"

"I'm not tired yet. Feel like a movie or something?"

"What are you in the mood for?"

"I think we've had enough sappy for evening. Not in the mood for action either."

"I was watching a documentary series on the Presidents if you're interested."

She felt the corner of her mouth tug up again. "How very patriotic of you."

"I do have a reputation to maintain, you know."


	9. Chapter 9

**NOTES**: As always, thanks to Kate for the beta and hilarious comments.

* * *

Natasha awoke with her cheek resting on something warm and solid. Prying open one eye, she saw Steve's torso rising and falling beneath her face. She closed her eye again and suppressed an embarrassed moan. She'd been a mess last night—or early this morning, if you wanted to be technical—and now she'd cried to and freaked out in front of one of the nicest men on the planet. And, peeking her eye open once again, apparently used him as a body pillow sometime after the Chester A. Arthur segment of the Presidential documentary they were watching.

Coulson was going to kill her.

But in order for him to do that, she'd first have to survive the embarrassment of sneaking out of Steve's apartment—and then never looking him in the eye again.

"You awake?" came a whisper from above her head, and she tried not to physically cringe.

She turned her head and rested her chin on his chest. "Hi."

"Hello," he returned with a soft smile. "How are we this afternoon?"

She swore once she looked at the clock. It was nearly one o'clock, and much later than she'd intended on sleeping. "Sorry I slept so late. And sorry for all of that last night."

"What are you apologizing for?"

She sat up and climbed over him. "You shouldn't have had to deal with—"

"I know how to set a privacy lock on my door, Natasha. I also know how to dismiss soldiers." He worked his jaw back and forth before sitting up. Natasha was almost too distracted by watching him wince as he rolled his right shoulder around in its socket to hear his follow-up. "I thought we were more than that. Friends, at least."

"Did you get hurt? No, you would've recovered already from Bangkok." She moved forward to stand in front of him and looked at the exposed part of his arm. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

He shook his head. "It's just stiff. Don't usually sleep with my arm above my head."

"Why would you—" she stopped herself as he looked up at her and his words clicked in her mind. He'd slept with his right arm above his head so it wouldn't be draped across her. He'd kept his contact with her as minimal as possible while she slept.

Her eyes fell to the floor. To say she was unaccustomed to someone being so cautious and tender with her was an understatement. Her world had gone topsy-turvy enough in the last couple of months and adding this on top of it made it feel a bit like she was drowning.

She ran her fingers through her hair and decided to use the greasiness she felt there as her way out. "I should go get cleaned up."

He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it back up with a shake of his head. Steve rose from his couch and walked her to the door. By the time they reached it, he found his voice again. "Natasha, I know how much easier it is to put up a front and appear invincible instead of admitting you need to rely on someone to get through the day. Don't make my mistakes; they're exhausting."

She felt her usual emotional shield rise into place at his words, but it felt shaky now, brittle. He'd found an access point in her usually airtight security system, and the breach was slowly causing her defenses to fail. All she could do was nod at him before stepping into the elevator and taking it down to her personal floor.

Once there, she quickly ate a frozen dinner before taking a shower. Even though her day was starting late, there would still be meetings for several hours and into the evening, most of them follow-ups to the mission in Bangkok. Natasha relied on her ability to compartmentalize to get through them. She was able to act like everything was as normal as could be and maintained that mask until she re-entered her quarters later that evening. Then, she no longer had the energy for it. She found herself exhausted, but she when she crawled into bed shortly after, sleep had trouble coming.

* * *

It was credit to Jasper Sitwell's excellent training as a SHIELD agent that he didn't completely jump out of his skin when he walked into his office to find Natasha on his couch. "Please tell me you're not here to kill me."

She looked up from the report she was reading to level a glare at him. "Don't you think you'd already be dead if that were true?"

He shrugged. "You may want to draw things out, I don't know what's going on in your head or who's ordered you to do what."

"Jasper, any chance we can move that meeting—" Coulson paused in the doorway to look at Natasha. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to hide."

"Everything okay?" Her handler tried his best to sound nonchalant, but Natasha knew where to see the concern written on his face.

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

Coulson took a handful more steps into Sitwell's office and closed the door behind him. "Natasha?" The tone was quiet, but she recognized it as an offer to come clean before he ordered whatever was bothering her out into the open.

With a sigh, she sank back into the couch. "My hormones are out of control, and I needed a break from the hot superheroes I live with. Even Stark is looking doable today."

"So you came here?" Coulson asked with a smirk directed at Sitwell.

The other agent put on an expression of mock shock. "Are you saying you don't want a piece of this?" he asked as ran his hands down the front of his suit jacket.

"I prefer men to have hair on their head, not their back," Natasha quipped.

Coulson swallowed a laugh while Sitwell shot him a look. "Please, I see more and more of your forehead by the hour."

"I may need you to save my life before the day is over, so I'll keep my reply to myself."

"Smart move. Wait—why aren't you hiding out in his office?" Sitwell asked her while pointing at Coulson. "Is he driving your hormones crazy too?"

Natasha and Coulson pulled similar faces of disgust. "No," she answered.

"Yeah," Sitwell said, "I guess Barton can be pretty possessive of his belongings."

"Worse," Coulson replied. "He'd want a threesome."

"Never happening," Natasha said emphatically.

"I wholeheartedly agree."

Sitwell shook his head at both of them. "But, seriously, why are you _here_?"

"He's holding meetings in his office all day," she answered, pointing at Coulson. "You don't have any until Maria comes in here at three, unless you want to put that conference with Agent Smith back on your schedule at one-thirty."

"You hacked my schedule?"

"Yes."

"And broke into my office?"

"Yes."

"In case you were wondering, you're still pants-shittingly terrifying."

"Thank you," she replied with a proud grin.

Coulson looked her up and down once more. "You sure you're okay?"

"'Okay' is a relative term," she muttered.

"That's not helping your case."

She waved him out the door. "I have Sitwell in case I have another emotional breakdown."

"Another?" the handler asked at the same time Sitwell swore under his breath.

Natasha felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach remembering waking up in Steve's quarters two days ago. "Classified."

"Are you seriously trying to withhold information from me?" Coulson asked.

She didn't need to rely on her multitude of acting skills to pull a face pleading him to leave things alone. "Please," she asked softly.

Coulson ground his jaw a moment before giving a slight nod. "Fine. But I thought you knew to call for help if you needed it." He then turned and left Sitwell's office.

The words cut through her like a dull, rusty blade. She'd put her life into Coulson's hands more times than she could remember, and the disappointment etched on his face when he'd said that to her made her feel like she committed the worst of betrayals. Add on top of that Steve's words to her two days ago as she'd prepared to flee his quarters, and Natasha felt sick to her stomach.

She didn't realize tears were threatening to fall till her instincts caused her to catch an object Sitwell threw at her—a box of tissues. "Thanks," she muttered softly. He nodded in return, keeping his eyes on his computer monitor. "What? No sarcastic comeback?"

He leaned over and opened the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk and pulled out a picture frame. "I know better than to smart off to pregnant women."

Natasha rose from the couch to take the picture he was holding out to her. She instantly recognized his wife, Anne, and their three daughters. "They've gotten big."

He nodded. "As much as you don't want them to, they'll keep getting bigger and older. And develop crushes on the stupidest of boys. Erin," he paused to point a finger to the oldest, "cannot stop listening to that One Direction band. I barely get to spend any time at home, and when I do, I have to listen to boy bands non-stop." He said it with disdain, but Natasha could easily see in his eyes the love he felt.

_Are you capable of such love?_

Natasha took a deep breath and closed her eyes in an effort to block out the niggling voice that flung doubts at her constantly. "I feel like I've lost any ounce of control I had over my life and my body." The words tumbled out of her mouth before her brain even acknowledged their existence.

Sitwell gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "Welcome to parenthood. You'll never have control over your life ever again."

She did her best not to panic at the thought. She'd spent her entire life following orders while also being in careful control of her actions and feelings. She could give over control easily if the person she was giving it to was her handler or perhaps a teammate, but a child? A newborn? How was she supposed to able to bend to their will while maintaining enough control to keep them safe?

"Natasha? You okay?"

She looked up from the picture to see Sitwell looking at her with concern, hand inching towards his phone to call for emotional back-up if necessary. She gave him a small smile and apologized.

"You don't have anything to apologize for."

Natasha ground her teeth at the sound of that sentence being spoken to her again.

"Look, if you want, I can give you Anne's number if you need someone to talk to. She doesn't know what it's like to be in the field, but she's the wife of an army officer turned SHIELD agent."

"Maybe. Thanks."

"Are you talking to anyone? I know when I found out I was going to be a dad, I lost my mind. Even though we planned it and were prepared for it—or so we thought—it's still a lot to handle. Do you have someone you can go to when it becomes overwhelming?"

Her stubborn streak challenged his words. She could handle anything thrown at her just fine all by herself, but deep down she wasn't sure that would hold true for this. She knew she could count on the men around her to help her out if needed; they'd already shown that within the last few months. The real question was would she be able to ask for help.

* * *

She made sure to clear out of Sitwell's office in plenty of time before his meeting with Maria. When she returned to her quarters, JARVIS told her that Pepper wanted to talk to her. Natasha dropped off her files and tablet and rode the elevator up to the penthouse. Once she stepped inside, Pepper greeted her with a warm smile. "Thanks for coming up."

"Not a problem. When did you get home?"

"Three hours ago," she answered as she waved Natasha over to come join her on the couch. "I have no idea what time it is right now, but I can say I've visited all twelve of our next tower construction sites around the world within the last month. And since I was on a construction kick, I was thinking about what we need to do to get your floor ready for the baby."

Pepper handed her three tablets, each displaying a variation of blueprints for Natasha's current floor plan. Natasha quickly set them down on the coffee table and spread them out. She hoped she gave off the appearance of wanting to compare them side-by-side instead of the fact that her hands were shaking slightly. Her eyes swept back and forth over the plans while Pepper explained the differences between them, but Natasha didn't pay attention to what she saw or heard. Not yet.

Natasha knew this was another item on the list of things she needed to do, but it was still hard. It was a challenge to believe that this would still happen to her. One of her recurring nightmares was that she would have the baby only to have Loki reappear and cause her to lose her child. It was one of the reasons she had yet to purchase anything for the baby: she didn't want to be left living in a place with remnants of her dashed dream surrounding her.

Shoving down her fears, Natasha took a deep breath, listened to the words Pepper was saying, and focused on the three designs. Each would require some reconstruction to be done on her floor, and Natasha knew that needed to happen sooner rather than later. She'd have to be displaced for two or three weeks. Natasha shrugged and said she'd do fine with temporary quarters on the Helicarrier or at headquarters; an appalled Pepper informed her she would be staying in one of the guest quarters in the Tower. "Take a day or two to look over these and let me know what you think. Then we can start planning furniture and décor," she added with an excited gleam in her eyes.

Natasha nodded and left Tony and Pepper's floor to return to her own. She grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen counter, sat down in the middle of her common room and munched while perusing the floor plans. She had JARVIS convert them to three-dimensional wire-framed holograms that she could manipulate in the air. In the middle of studying the second one, JARVIS announced Clint was at her door.

"Let him in," she answered.

"What's up?" he asked as he walked into her quarters.

"Phil send you, or did Jasper?"

"Maybe I came here on my own." She shot him a look that silently called him a liar. "Fine—Phil. Thought I'd come see if you wanted someone to talk to. Unless you can't control yourself around my sexy, sexy body."

She rolled her eyes. "Been there, done that, don't need to go back."

He pouted his lower lip out a bit. "Not even a little?" She threw the wrapper from her granola bar at his face in return, causing him to laugh. "What's all this?" he asked, pointing at the floating floor plans. "And why are you sitting on the floor when there's a perfectly good couch behind you?" He stepped around her to flop himself across said couch.

"Boots off," she ordered and ignored his eye roll as he toed off his shoes. "These are blueprints Pepper gave me to add a nursery to my quarters. And I'm sitting on the floor because I can and I don't know how much longer that will be true."

"Please," he muttered. "You're not fat yet."

She rose from the ground with a slow twist and cherished the grace she still had in the movement before walking up to the couch and repeating her move of exposing her abdomen. Clint sat up immediately, and unlike Steve, reached out and touched the small swell without permission or apology. The corners of Natasha's mouth turned slightly upward at the familiarity of physical contact with him and the slow smile working its way across Clint's mouth. "When did this happen?"

"A few days ago."

Clint made a humming noise as his calloused fingertips drew small circles on her skin. "Hi, baby. I'm your Uncle Clint."

Natasha smacked him lightly on the head. "What are you doing, idiot?"

"Don't insult your child's favorite uncle in front of them."

She raised a red eyebrow at him. "What makes you so sure you're going to earn that title?"

"Please. Who else would win? I'm your favorite, even if you treat me like crap. The kid will follow your lead."

"Is this going to become a thing now?" she asked. "Everyone touching and talking to my stomach?"

His hand stilled for the first time since he initiated the contact. "Please don't hurt my fingers. I need them." She shook her head and sat down next to him with a sigh. "Anyone else know about this?" he asked.

"Steve," she answered quietly. He knit his eyebrows together in confusion but remained quiet. "I don't know why I went to him first. It was late, and I guess I didn't want to bug you and Phil."

"You don't bug us, Tasha."

She shrugged. "Anyway, I looked down and saw it and just… went to him."

"Why him?"

She paused to consider her answer. "He's team lead; I wanted to update him on my status."

"Seriously?"

"And he'd asked before if I'd started to show. I wanted to let him know I had."

"What happened then?"

"I slept with him."

Clint gave her a lock of total shock. "You defiled Captain America?"

She smacked him in the ear. "Not like that. I fell asleep with him on his couch."

He smirked at her. "How clean was your getaway in the morning?"

Natasha winced. "Not as easy of an extraction as I'd hoped."

He let out a curt laugh. "We suck at emotions." Clint stretched out his right arm and drew her against his side. She went easily and nestled her head onto his shoulder. His hand quickly found its way to her curls and began twisting tendrils between his fingers. She released an involuntary sigh at the familiar contact. "So," he started softly, "what are you going to do about that?"

"There's nothing to do anything about," she answered.

"That's cute, but I don't believe you. You don't go to leaders when you're in trouble and functioning on autopilot. You come to me. You come to Phil—Phil, not Coulson. And if you don't want to do anything about it, fine. But know that you can't lie to me. Besides, probably wasn't a bad idea since he might want some company this week."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Tomorrow's the first anniversary of him waking up from the ice," Clint answered.

Natasha's lips pursed into a hard line. She'd known that date was sometime soon but had been so caught up in her own life that she forgot about it. She listed it as another reason she shouldn't entangle her mess of a life with Steve's.

Not that she wanted to.

Did she?

"I hate hormones," she muttered to herself.

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means and why you said it, and just nod sympathetically."

"Are there any plans? To distract him or whatever?"

"Cap declined Phil's idea to set something up. I think Tony said he offered to try and break his streak of not being able to get drunk, but Rogers turned that down, too."

"Does he seemed bothered by the anniversary?" she asked.

"Wouldn't you be? How many dates do we have marked off in our heads to remember people who are gone?" Several, Natasha knew. Dates forever etched in her mind to remember ops gone wrong, fallen comrades and friends.

"We should do something at least. Distract him for a little bit."

"You could wear a low-cut shirt around him. Your cleavage has been looking awesome and I'm sure that would cheer anyone up." He grunted in pain as she landed an elbow. "Aww, ribs."

"Maybe he just wants to be left alone," she countered.

"I think he's been left alone enough to last a lifetime, don't you?"

* * *

It was three hours later when Steve knocked on her door. "You wanted to see me?" he asked with a mild amount of timidity in his voice and posture.

She swept a hand in the direction of her kitchen counter. "I'm hosting an 'I'm-sorry-I-ran-away-and-don't-know-how-to-deal-with-my-emotions' dinner. Congratulations and apologies on earning your invitation." That earned her a small smile as he crossed the threshold into her quarters and moved to the counter to inspect the offerings. "I didn't know what you were in the mood for, so I got a little bit from your usual choices when it's your turn to pick carry out."

They fixed themselves plates and ate in relative silence that was only somewhat awkward. Once they were finished he rose and began putting things away. "You cooked, I'll clean."

"I'm not sure you can count this as cooking, but it is sadly the higher end of my culinary abilities." She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and watched him maneuver around her kitchen. The harsh light from within the refrigerator seemed to highlight the hard lines of muscles underneath his shirt and Natasha felt her skin flush. With a soft, muttered curse, she held her head in her hand.

Her curse wasn't soft enough, because it drew Steve's attention. "Are you feeling okay? Headache?"

She put down her hands and shook her head. "No, just been a long day. Actually," she paused, rising from her chair and moving to where she left blueprints on the coffee table in the common room, "I could use your help with something."

He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and sat down next to her on the couch. Natasha cursed again—silently this time—at her heightened sense of smell for picking up on the clean and spicy scent that was entirely male and coming from Steve. "I'd be happy to help you with anything," he said with a half-grin.

"That's a dangerous thing to say right now," she muttered and waved off any follow-up question he might have about her statement. She handed him the trio of tablets to look over. "You're an artist—help me figure out which one is the best."

He studied them for a moment, holding them up in the air to get a sense of how each would affect the current layout of Natasha's floor. "You don't want this one," he said as he sat down the first tablet on the table. "It puts the nursery on the east side of the building, and you don't want the sunlight streaming in there first thing and waking up the baby." He held the remaining tablets in each of his hands, looking back and forth between the pair. "I like the layout of this one better," he said, referencing the one in his left hand, "but it will take longer for reconstruction." He paused and looked over at her. "Where are you going to stay while this is all going on?"

"Pepper said I could stay on one of the guest floors."

He nodded but didn't say anything about it. "Well, if you want my two cents, I pick this one. I think it will be nicer."

She shrugged while looking over his recommendation. "Works for me."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Seriously? That's all it takes to convince you on something?"

"On something like this? Yes." The look didn't leave his face, so she sighed before answering. "I don't live in a home. I live in a set of quarters. The people around me—Clint, Phil, all of you, really—that's what I consider to be home. This," she swept her hand around the room, "is just where I'm sleeping for now." He frowned. "I've disappointed you somehow."

"No. It's just—whenever I pictured bringing my kid home for the first time, I always thought about how it would be. What color the walls were, what blanket that their grandma made would be in the crib, that kind of thing."

Natasha's eyes turned back to the blueprint. She swallowed the feelings of incompetence spawned by his words. "I can't do this," she admitted quietly.

Steve gave her a big smile. "Of course you can."

She shook her head. "I don't have heirloom blankets to pass down. I don't care what color walls are. My only idea of family is living with a bunch of people who lead entirely violent lives."

He leaned in closer to her. "Who was able to make Bruce feel safe enough to come in and join us in the first place? Who stood up for Clint and protected him when almost everyone else saw him as a traitor? And then who nursed him back to life while he recovered from that mess and thinking he'd lost Phil?"

"That has nothing to do with what you're talking about."

He shrugged. "I could easily be wrong; wouldn't be the first time. Maybe what blanket you wrap the kid in isn't as important as the stories of friendships you tell them while you're holding them. Besides, I've never had a kid, so what do I know?"

"What color to paint walls, apparently," she said while turning her focus back toward the blueprints.

He shrugged. "I always thought yellow. But these days you can find out what you're having before the baby's born, right?"

She nodded, "Next week, actually." That's when Doctor McClellan had scheduled her genetic tests. They were screens you could have run to determine if the fetus had any genetic abnormalities or diseases, but Bruce had let her know that he could also use them to determine the father as well as gender if she wanted.

His face lit up a little. "Hoping for a boy or a girl?"

She'd tossed the question around in her mind a number of times but still hadn't come up with a preference, so she shrugged as an answer.

"Well," he said with his eyes roaming around her quarters, "I think it's a great design."

Natasha looked at him. "You can picture it?"

"Yeah, can't you?"

She tried to see how the walls would change based on the information in her hand, but couldn't. She was about to ask JARVIS to place giant wire frames where the new walls would be when Steve rose from the couch and offered her his right palm. She took it with her left, and he wrapped his broad hand around her tiny one in a gentle grip. He led her over ten feet to point out where the nearest change would be. Every time they made a stop, he would move to stand behind her, crouching a bit to come down closer to her eye level, and point out features with his right hand over her right shoulder. He explained how this wall would move this many feet, how a door would be moved over to there, and how the different number of windows in the new room would change the lighting. Eventually they wound their way into what was technically designated as Natasha's office but was only really used to collect dust. This space would become the nursery. Her eyes roamed around the room trying to picture details. They stuck on the ceiling and she looked at the tablet still in her right hand for comparison; she shook her head and started typing notes on the plans.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked.

"Clint's going to want an air vent installed in here."

That caused the other man to smile. "Of course he is." He paused for a moment. "The first thing I'm going to do when I get back to my quarters is make a note of where all the vents in my place are."

"You should've done that already," she answered with a chuckle.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, but unlike dinner, this was comfortable. Steve was the first to break it. "It's late, and I should let you get some rest. Thanks for dinner. And," he added with a sly grin, "you've successfully been discussing baby things for thirty whole minutes now, and I want to leave before you realize it and run away again."

Natasha smacked him on the arm and followed him to the entrance to her quarters. "Listen," she started and hoped not to sound too awkward, "I know tomorrow is kind of big for you. If you need anything…"

His eyes dropped to the floor, and she saw a wash of pain cross his features before he slid the brave mask usually reserved for taking on the Captain America persona into place. "Thanks."

"And if you need someone to talk to or have nightmares or anything, you know where I am. I'm pretty sure I owe you a few at the point."

A shadow of the sly smile from moments before returned. "Who's trying to get who into bed now?"

She should've rolled her eyes and smacked him again. But standing there in the dim light of the room, she instead felt heat rush through her body again. "That's a dangerous question to ask me today," she answered in a low and quiet voice.

He looked her up and down and then gave the smallest shake of his head. "Night, Natasha."

She watched him step on to the elevator and tried to fight against how much she wished he would come back, pull her tight against his wide chest, bury his fingers in her hair—

"Yeah," she said to her now empty apartment, "I think it's time for a very cold shower."


	10. Chapter 10

**NOTES:** Thanks to the amazing Kate for making these words readable. This is a big chapter, guys, and she is the reason it works.

* * *

Natasha made her way from the medical center within the Tower up to Bruce's personal lab. Doctor McClellan had been kind enough to agree to Natasha's request of running the tests outside of headquarters and performing the amniocentesis there. Then Bruce would run the results instead of a SHIELD lab rat. It wasn't so much the inconvenience of going to a different location that irked her; it was the fact that she wanted someone she could trust to keep the test results confidential. Sure, there were laws about medical privacy and such, but people working for intelligence agencies could sometimes be the worst gossips.

In her hand was the vial Bruce would use to run her tests. She tried not to think about how much fear and emotion could be tied up in such a small amount of fluid, but there it was. She'd been longing for these results since she'd been told about her pregnancy, but at the same time, she was terrified. It was somewhat easier to live in ignorance than finding out something she didn't want to hear and having it haunt her every second of the day.

She walked into the lab and Bruce's head poked around a bank of monitors. "Hold it," he ordered sharply, and then shot her quick look of apology for snapping at her before doing a visual sweep of the lab benches. "Okay, just wanted to make sure I didn't have any nasty chemicals lying around."

"Wouldn't you know already in order to protect yourself?"

He gave her a small smile. "My body's pretty much already ruined on that front." He held out his hand, and she passed the sample off to him. "Okay, I'll have all your results in a week."

"A week?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise and annoyance out of her voice.

"Yeah, didn't Doctor McClellan explain that to you?"

_Probably_, she thought to herself, but refused to say it out loud. Her mind was so out of it today that she'd poured expired coffee creamer on her bowl of cereal that morning. "Just let me know when you have them."

"Of course, Natasha."

She thought about turning around and leaving, but her work was done for the day. So instead, she settled herself on a stool. Bruce poured her a mug of tea from a nearby carafe and slid it down the bench to her. "It's safe to drink, promise."

She held the mug in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. "What are you going to do with that?" she asked with a head nod towards the vial he was preparing for tests.

"First, and why it's going to take so long, is we have to make the cells replicate. They have to be pulled when they reach a certain stage in development. Most of the time the DNA in your cells is like—think of a plate of spaghetti. Kind of like that. When the cell gets ready to divide, the chromosomes will separate into individual units. We need them to look like that to do the karyotype." She quirked an eyebrow at the new word. "Kind of like an x-ray of your chromosomes. We'll do this test to make sure that aren't any chromosomes missing or any extras present. We can also tell the gender, as well as some other things about the health of the genome."

"What about paternity?" she asked.

"For that I can give you an answer as soon as tomorrow, possibly." He pointed to a test tube rack where tubes were labeled with familiar names—one for each of the men present in the room during Loki's attack, except for the God of Mischief himself. There was a tube with her name on it as well, but it was empty. "I'll run a gel for that, but again, we need to wait for enough cells to replicate so I have plenty of material to work with."

"How will you be able to tell?"

He paused in his movements trying to think of the best way to answer the question. "Let's pretend everyone is a different book. I'm going to use a thing—they're called restriction enzymes—that will read through everyone's individual book and cut the text whenever it finds a certain section. Like, I tell it to make a cut every time the word 'through' is used. Since everyone has different stories, the number of words between 'throughs' is going to vary. Parents and children share similar texts, so they'll be the same number."

"And you match up the sizes of the chunks to find out who the father is?"

"Exactly."

She nodded to herself with a little hum. "When will that one be ready?"

"I can run it tomorrow. Results should be ready by the afternoon."

Natasha sipped her tea while thinking about that. _One more day_ became her brain's new mantra. Her eyes again fell on the empty test tube set aside for her. "I supposed you'll need a sample from me, too," she said as she pushed up the sleeve of her shirt to expose her left arm.

Bruce shook his head and grabbed for a packaged cotton swab. "You're done with needles for today." He gave a soft chuckle at Natasha's expression of relief. "I'll just use this to scrape the inside of your mouth."

Obediently, she opened her jaw. He rubbed the cotton against the inside of her cheek a few times before removing it. He then clipped the cotton tip off and let it fall into the test tube before adding a pipette's worth of clear liquid to it.

"Do you have any other questions for me?" he asked.

"Do you have a time machine?"

"No. I don't think it would be safe to let Tony around that kind of technology."

* * *

The men did their best not to be completely obvious with their distraction technique of an impromptu Mario Kart Tournament that evening. But since that was the same plan of attack they'd used last week for Steve's anniversary of being pulled from the ice, they weren't too successful at keeping their motives clandestine. Natasha played along with them if only to use Thor's bellows of victory and Tony's whining about "That's not how cars work" to try and drown out her rampant thoughts.

Try.

She gave the impression of ignoring the quick glances Clint, Phil, and Steve were each casting her way. None of them actually said anything to her, and she didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed about that.

A couple of hours and a dozen bags of popcorn later, they began to wind things down for the evening. Bruce told Natasha he could start running the gel at four the next afternoon, and would have results for paternity a half-hour later.

"I still think you should've let me make Maury Povich shirts," Tony whined to Bruce.

"What is a Maury Povich?" Thor asked.

"He's the guy with the show that's always doing baby daddy tests. You know: 'You're not the father. You're not the father. You're not the father,'" he exclaimed while pointing at various people in the room before throwing his arms in the air. "'Everyone is not the father.'"

Phil scrunched his face up at him. "I think you're confusing him slightly with Oprah."

Tony waved him off. "Whatever. I'm saying I still have time to make t-shirts if we want this to be a thing."

"Yes," Natasha commented with venom clear in her voice, "let's make a joke of this."

Color drained in Tony's face. "That clicking sound I heard in my head just now was me stepping down on a conversational landmine, right? That's what just happened?"

"Stark," Steve warned in a tone usually received for battles.

Tony threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. "It was joke. I was trying to make a joke. Obviously it was in poor taste, but really you shouldn't expect anything else from me."

As the men continued to bicker at each other, Clint walked over to her and stretched out a hand. She gave him a look of confusion. "It's Wednesday, which means it's my turn on the schedule. There's no way you're going to have a peaceful night's sleep tonight, so let's both just save everyone some time and go."

"I don't want to make Phil sleep on the couch again."

"That's the worst excuse ever. And it doesn't matter, he's leaving for the Helicarrier in fifteen. Middle-of-the-night meeting with Fury and some other people on the other side of the world."

"And you can't stand sleeping in an empty bed for even just one night?"

Clint smirked. "You've known me long enough to already know the answer to that question." He tugged her up from her seat on the couch.

She looked over her shoulder as she left. Only Thor, who gave her a nod, noticed she was leaving. Natasha, Clint and Phil took the elevator in silence. Once inside the men's quarters, Natasha turned towards the kitchen, but a hand grabbed hold of her arm. Phil gently tugged her back around to face him. "I'll be back by three tomorrow afternoon or someone is going to pay dearly." She gave him a weak half-smile and a quick nod before leaving them alone to say goodbye to each other. A few minutes later, Clint joined her in the kitchen and took a seat at the island.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

She kept her eyes on her now bare toes, having ditched her boots upon entering their quarters. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, I'll say what I think about it. It doesn't matter where the kid's DNA comes from; it's how you raise them."

She snorted. "Because we're such fine examples of properly nurtured children."

"Tasha—"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I can't do this tonight. I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help and all, but I'm too tired to have this conversation."

He nodded and rose from the stool. Coming around the counter to stand in front of her, he took the glass out of her hand, swung his left arm around her neck and pulled her in for a hug. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and inhaled his familiar scent. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she was able to keep them at bay. They stayed in the embrace for a moment before Clint leaned back to place a kiss on her forehead. "I'm beat," he told her. "Let's go to bed."

She followed him to the bedroom and accepted the t-shirt and pair of boxers thrown in her direction. Once they quietly changed clothes and crawled under the covers, Clint flopped onto his back with his hands behind his head and Natasha rolled on to her right side with her back to him. In her head, she began to count away the seconds until he gave up his restraint and initiated physical contact with her. She actually made it past a hundred before his right hand landed lightly on her hip, his thumb sweeping back and forth. Her eyes fell on the digital alarm clock on Phil's bedside table; she watched the minutes tick by for half an hour before speaking. "I thought you said you were tired."

"How do you know I wasn't already asleep?" he asked.

"You weren't snoring," she said as she rolled over to face him. He gave a quick, noiseless huff of laughter, keeping his eyes turned to the ceiling. "Do _you_ want to talk?"

"You shouldn't have to listen to my crap."

"C'mon, it'll be a nice change instead of everyone pestering me."

He rolled his lips twice before giving in. "You're not the only one who has nightmares. About the kid, I mean." Natasha hoped if she stayed silent, it would encourage him to talk more, and she was rewarded a minute later. "I dream about all the things that can go wrong: someone takes her, Loki comes back and brainwashes us all and she's abandoned, something happens to all of us and she's left to fend for herself in the foster care system like I was, or I'm watching her and turn my back for just a split second and she's gone, and no matter where I look, I can't find her." He clinched his jaw and ran a hand over his face. "I shouldn't be telling you this; you have enough on your plate."

"I didn't realize you were this worried."

He turned his head to face her, and the fear was evident in his eyes. "Those don't even cover the nightmares I have where I lose you."

She reached out and stroked his cheek. She tried to think of something to say, but knew words were pretty useless at combating fear. His hand came up to cover hers. "You think it's going to be a girl?" she asked. He gave a shrug, but she saw some softness slip into his face as he thought about it. She rolled over once more to put her back against him, and it took less than a second for him to pull her against his bare chest and wrap his strong arms around her. He buried his nose in her curls and she relaxed into the sensation of his breath on her neck and his hairy legs tangled up in hers. Once again, his hand swept its way down her abdomen and this time came to rest on the slowly enlarging bump there.

"G'night, sweetheart," he muttered.

"Since when do you call me that?"

"Never, and I'm not starting now." He made a sweep with his thumb on her stomach to emphasize to whom he was speaking.

And that was the straw that broke her emotions' back. Tears fell quietly down her cheeks as she no longer had the strength to keep them contained. At least the only other person around was Clint. Clint, who had been at one time or another her savior, lover, best friend, brother, safety net, or some combination thereof. His grip around her tightened slightly, and he hummed a melody into her hair. She forced herself to grab hold of the notes and used them to fall asleep.

* * *

She awoke the next morning cold, but her stomach growled when she caught the aroma of pancakes and bacon. After a stop at the bathroom, she padded her way out to the kitchen where Clint was cooking a small feast. Natasha grabbed his coffee mug and held it up to her nose. Despite going for months without the beverage now, she still couldn't resist the smell. He swatted lightly at her wrists until she gave it back, then he finished the mug in three large gulps.

They ate in silence. Afterwards, Clint cleaned the kitchen while she pulled up reports on a tablet. She tried to focus on the information, but the words were swimming together. She looked at the clock on the microwave and began the six-hour countdown until Bruce would have results.

"What do you want to do today?" Clint asked her.

"You don't have anything?"

He shook his head. "Thought today would be a good excuse to use one of my plethora of vacation days." She raised an eyebrow at the advanced vocabulary, which caused him to pull a hurt face. "I know words."

They settled on starting their day at the shooting range. Clint even let her shoot with one of his lighter weighted bows in hopes that adjusting to the foreign weapon would distract her mind. It did some, but not enough. After a couple of hours of that, they ran a path around Manhattan, stopping for lunch at a deli a few blocks from the Tower before returning home. From there they went their separate ways to shower, and by the time she made it back up to the common room—where the men were doing a piss-poor job of looking disinterested and not at all nervous—Coulson was back from the Helicarrier. They all milled about for a bit, starting stunted surface conversations that never went anywhere. Bruce texted them all a little before four to let them know he was about to run the gel.

The lot of them arrived in the lab a few minutes later. Bruce made sure to have extra stools ready for them even though Thor was set on pacing and there was no way Tony was going to sit still. Bruce kept his focus on Natasha and waved her over to the lab bench where he'd made his preparations. On it was a clear box with wires attached. Inside lay a blue rectangle about an inch thick that was covered in what looked like water. "This is the gel," Bruce said as he pointed to the object. "You can touch it if you want, just don't poke a hole in it with your nail or anything." She reached into the liquid and ran the pad of her index finger along it. It felt like a Jell-O mold, but slightly sturdier. "And these," Bruce continued, swiping a hand to show a rack of small, capped tubes labeled with everyone's names, "are the DNA samples I'll inject into it. You're first."

She watched as he used a pipette with a disposable tip to draw dark blue liquid out of her designated tube. He then placed his elbows on the bench to steady his hands has he deposited the sample into the first space in a row of empty boxes situated towards the top of the gel that Natasha failed to notice until that moment.

"Next is the baby." He ejected the pipette's tip into a biohazard container and inserted a new one before repeating the process with a sample from the tube marked _fetus_. Bruce performed round after round until eight empty spaces at the top of the gel were filled with DNA samples. He then snapped the box's lid into place and flipped a switch. "DNA has a slight charge to it. The current that's now running through the solution is going to help draw that charge towards the bottom of the gel like a magnet. The smaller chunks of DNA—like the smaller pieces of texts that we cut up for each individual—are going to move the furthest."

She watched as the dark blue sample slowly began to seep through the gel within each row. "How long will it take?"

"About half an hour."

She nodded and forced herself to peel her eyes from the contraption. Watching it wasn't going to make time move faster, and it certainly wasn't going to do anything to calm her nerves. She took up pacing in the area that Thor and Tony were leaving alone and did her best to ignore stares. Natasha half-listened as Phil gave them updates from the meetings he'd had during the night and early morning. And then finally, it was time to receive the news she'd simultaneously longed for and dreaded for the last few months.

Bruce pulled over a monitor and projected the image of the gel onto the screen. It showed the eight samples, but now each showed bands of blue at different points going down the rows. "Well?" Natasha asked.

She should've known the news wasn't good by the way Bruce's eyebrows knitted together and his lips rolled into a hard line. "None of us are the father."

Before the words could even truly sink in, she found herself quickly seated on a stool with a firm hand pressing her neck between her knees.

None of them were the father.

The only other person in the room had been—

"Breathe, Tasha," Clint ordered, and she belatedly realized it was his hand on her neck. He crouched down beside her. "It doesn't mean it's him. It could be anyone else; it's just not one of us."

"Umm, actually," Bruce cut in, his eyes still glued to the monitor. "It is one of us." Natasha pushed Clint's arm away so she could lift her face to the screen. Bruce waved her over, and she shakily moved to stand next to him. "You remember whose DNA is in the first two rows?"

She heard Tony swear in surprise somewhere behind her before answering. "That one is me," she said pointing to the first row before moving her finger to hover over the second, "and that one's the baby."

"Notice anything about them?"

She sighed and tried to focus her mind. She stared at the two rows, the number of bands in each and the distance between each one. "They look alike," she answered.

"They look almost exactly alike, actually," Bruce said with a nod.

"But I'm the mother. Isn't that normal?"

"No. The baby should share some bands with you, some with the father. This," he said running his finger along the row containing the baby's DNA, "is all you."

She knew she should be catching on to his words, but the buzzing her head ruined any chance of that. Thankfully, Phil clued her in. "You mean, like a clone?"

Bruce nodded. "That's what this is saying. I'll know more once the karyotype is ready in six days. I can also do some sequencing of its genome to verify the results."

"Are you sure you didn't mix up the samples somehow?" Phil asked, his face showing skepticism.

The scientist shook his head. "Despite what you may think because of the alter ego and everything, I'm actually quite careful when it comes to working in the lab. At least with other people's genomes."

Natasha heard her handler give a small huff, but he didn't argue further. "Do you think it's a clone?" she asked, her eyes still unable to look away from the monitor in front of her.

He adjusted his glasses and tilted his head before answering, as if doing that would allow him to see some missing clues. "I'd like to have more data before I say anything. Let me look at the karyotype, and then I'll let you know."

* * *

Three days later, Natasha was in her quarters doing some light cleaning after dinner. With her worries that the baby was half Loki's mostly erased from her mind, she'd been sleeping somewhat easier the last few nights. The changes in her body, while growing more obvious, weren't leaving her feeling as out of herself as they did during the first few months. She'd taken advantage of it that day by running errands and giving into Pepper's repeated request to take her shopping for clothes. While out, her friend had tried to steer her into several furniture stores to look at cribs. "I'm carrying a shopping bag full of preggo pants," Natasha had responded. "Can we not do this today?" Pepper had pulled a face, but let it slide.

Natasha was in the middle of replacing what few books she always had with her back on the newly-dusted bookshelf when the knock came. "Come in," she called out.

Steve walked into her quarters and gave her a weak, tight smile. "You got a second?"

"Sure," she said as she placed the final book back on the shelf. "Everything okay?"

He sighed. "It's entirely possible I'm going to screw this up at multiple points, but I just—there's something I wanted to say." She waved him over to the couch and took a seat herself. He scratched the back of his neck as he moved towards her and sat with a serious look on his face. "What I'm about it say—it's nothing because I don't think you're capable. I mean, I was practically raised by a single mom; I'm not saying that it can't be done, but…" He paused and rubbed his hands together. "Back in the war, guys made promises to each other all the time. 'If I don't come back from this, take care of my family.' That kind of thing."

She felt her chest tighten and she shook her head. "Steve—"

He held a hand out to let her know he wasn't finished. "I'm not saying that your answer has to be yes, and I'm not saying you have to answer right now. I just want you to know that if you want the help, I'm willing."

She studied his face a moment before speaking. "How long have you been sitting on this?"

He shrugged and ran his thumb along a crease in his khakis over his thigh. "A while. I just wanted to wait until I knew I wasn't stepping on anyone's toes if someone else turned out to be the father."

She nodded and tried to phrase her words as delicately as possible. "I don't love you."

Confusion swept across his face and drew his eyes up to her. "I never said you did, or that you had to. That's not what I'm asking for."

"Steve—"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His hands gradually increasing in motion as he spoke. "I'm not asking for you to fall in love with me, Natasha. Those men who went home to take care of their friend's widow and kids, they weren't asking for love, either. I mean, sometimes it happened, but that's not what I'm looking for."

Natasha felt her stomach twist into knots at the offer. "You should be. You should go look for someone who loves you. You deserve that. I don't want you to tie yourself down to me and a kid who isn't yours when you could go and find a family for yourself. That's not a life I could ever give you."

"I'm not asking you to." He ran a hand over his face. "I won't bring this up again, but I just wanted you to know that if you want something like that, I'm willing to help. I'm not expecting anything in return. You don't have to answer now, just think about it." With that, he rose from the couch.

"Bad things happen to men who attach themselves to me," she said quietly. Her words caused him to stop a foot from the door. He didn't turn, but she knew he was listening. "Men who become involved with me… Things don't turn out well for them. Your name doesn't deserve to be added to that list."

He turned with his chin raised in the air at the challenge. "I've already survived some pretty rough stuff. What else could life throw at me?"

Natasha looked down at her hands. Her fingers were responsible for more deaths than she could count. They were bringers of destructions, manipulators of lies and deceit. They had no business being anywhere near a man named Steve Rogers. They didn't deserve to hold a baby either, but Natasha felt like she should only push her luck on one of those two fronts. "You don't deserve to be brought down to my level."

"Natasha," he spoke with a gentle yet firm voice. Steve then waited a moment for her eyes to meet his. "You don't know what would happen. Maybe I would raise you up to whatever unnecessary and stupid pedestal you've put me on." He worked his jaw a moment before shaking his head at whatever words he might say. "Just think about it. Please." He shrugged. "I just want be helpful. Have some use around here." With that, he turned and finished his exit.

She sat and stewed on his words for a while, batting them around and trying to pull opinion away from fact. Deep down, she couldn't always trust herself to decide between the two, not on matters like this.

Natasha stayed on the couch until the silence in her quarters threatened to suffocate her. Then she rose and took the elevator to Clint and Phil's apartment. Since she was given full access to their space, she walked in without alerting them to her presence. Clint jerked when she walked into the kitchen. "Hey, we could've been having sex."

She grabbed the steaming slice of pizza out of his hand and took a bite of it to claim it as her own. "Please, I could smell your food as soon as I got off the elevator. This is New York style pizza, and you only get to eat that when Phil isn't around demanding his beloved deep dish."

He huffed as he grabbed another slice from the box and began to eat it. "What's up?"

She took another bit from her slice to buy her a moment. "Steve came to talk to me just now."

Clint paused in his chewing. "And?"

"He offered to act like a father-figure to the baby if I wanted it. Compared it to his soldiers making promises to take care of the wives and kids of fallen friends back in the war."

Clint swore under his breath. "Was I supposed to do that? Were you expecting that from me?"

"I wasn't expecting it from anyone. Why would I want to stick any of you with a responsibility that isn't yours? Even if one of you ended up being the father, I still wouldn't ask it of you."

"But you know we'd step up to the plate, right?" She shrugged, and then she could practically hear Clint's eyes roll. "Natasha—"

"He deserves better than me. I told him so."

"And what did he have to say about that?"

"That he wasn't looking for love. That he wouldn't bring it up again unless I wanted to go through with things."

"And what did you say to that?"

"Nothing. He left."

Clint wiped his now empty fingers on his pants and then leaned his elbows on the kitchen island. "Nat, you're not going to be able do this entirely by yourself. I'm not saying you have to accept his help, or that it has to look like that. But you have to say yes to some kind of assistance at some point in time. And I know the thought of doing that can be more terrifying than the thought of actually having this kid."

"Get out of my brain, Barton."

He smiled. "Gladly. It's creepy in there. But seriously, it doesn't matter when you say yes to help, and it doesn't matter who it comes from. Wait, that's a lie—if it's someone I don't like, I'll put an arrow in 'em. But," he shrugged, "you know. Ask for help."

"You do realize the irony that you of all people are telling me to do this?"

He waved her comment off before grabbing another slice of pizza. "Do I need to go beat up Rogers?"

"Like you actually could."

"I'd try my best for you."

"You'd get dumped for it."

She expected a joke in return, not the look of seriousness. "You know if it came down to you or Cap, Phil would pick you. Not saying there's going to be a contest about it or anything. But, if need be, you'd win."

* * *

In the three days between the conversations with Clint and Steve and waiting for Bruce's message that the karyotype results were ready, things were certainly eventful. Monday involved a fight with the Wrecking Crew that had left everyone at least a little worse for wear. Clint was the worst off and ended up spending the night in medical with a concussion, sprained knee, and a nasty cut up his right arm. Tuesday was spent helping Coulson organize paperwork, press statements, and clean-up crews. By the time Wednesday came around, Natasha wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for days. Providing she could do so without the leg cramps that were now plaguing her nights.

Bruce's text came shortly before noon. By the time Natasha made it down to the lab, everyone else had gathered there as well. She didn't know whether to be mad about the men sticking their noses in her business, or grateful that it would save her time in telling each of them what the results were. Phil motioned at an empty stool waiting for her, but she waved it off. "My back hurts less if I stand."

The comment caused the corners of his mouth to turn downward. "You need to tell me things like this so we can help keep you as comfortable as possible."

"Trust me, you do not want a daily log with all the changes going on with me. No one needs to read that."

Bruce caught her eye and raised his eyebrows in a silent question of _Are you ready?_ She nodded. "Okay," he began. "You remember what I told you a karyotype is?"

"Like an x-ray of your chromosomes," she answered.

He spun a monitor her direction while nodding. "This," he said pointing to the left side of the screen, "is yours. And this," he paused to point to the other half of the projected image, "is the baby's."

Natasha studied them. Each set of chromosomes was displayed by matching pairs and organized from largest to smallest with the exception of the final pair in the bottom right corner. "So?"

"Well, first of all," Bruce started while highlighting the final, seemingly out-of-place pair on the baby's side of the screen. "It's a girl."

Her mind buzzed at the words. She knew this was a likely outcome after the last conversation they'd had in the lab, but the confirmation was still heady. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. Those are two X chromosomes. If it was a boy, the one on the right would be much shorter." He paused a moment to let the news sink in. "Now, as for how much of the DNA is only yours?" As he spoke, he shifted his finger back to her side of the monitor. As he did, some sections on her chromosomes changed from red to bright green: the tips of each one, as well as a scattering of stripes on a select few. "These green portions, these are what's in your medical logs as being part of the work the KGB did on you to turn you into the Black Widow. The extra DNA on the tips is what helps to keep you from aging. The ones scattered around help you heal quickly, boost your speed and agility, et cetera." His fingers manipulated the image by dragging the baby's karyotype to the left and dropping it on top of her own. When it did, the dark bands striped across each chromosome horizontally lined up perfectly with hers. With the exception of the green sections, her child's genetic structure looked identical to her own. "The baby is you without your bio-enhancements."

Her right hand drifted towards her expanding stomach, a habit she'd caught herself doing more frequently within the last couple of weeks. But instead of forcing it back down to her side as usual, she let it rest gently against her burgeoning bump. Through the increased buzzing sound in her ears, she briefly caught snippets of a conversation between Bruce and Phil about further tests and genetic sequencing. And to her left, her peripheral vision caught Clint limping up to her.

"You okay?"

As she looked at him, she felt tears stinging her eyes. "She's me."

He nodded. "You without the history. You without the manipulations. You as you were supposed to be."

She tried to let his words sink in, to find the silver lining as he had. But all she could think about was how her daughter was going to be prone to all her faults without the aid of bio-enhancements to help save her from tight spots.


	11. Chapter 11

NOTES: Thanks as always to the_wordbutler for cleaning up my words.

* * *

"Where do you want me to put this stuff?" Clint asked, a duffel bag balanced on each shoulder full of Natasha's clothes and shoes.

"Just wherever," Natasha answered before he disappeared into Steve's bedroom.

Steve's bedroom. The place where she would be sleeping for the next week.

She wished she'd had a camera handy when she'd told Clint where he'd be helping her move some of her belongings to while her quarters were rebuilt. She'd shrugged at the shock and on his face and reminded him that he was the one who'd encouraged her to accept help.

Help in this case being a week-long stay in Steve's quarters while he was out doing press for the one-year anniversary of the Battle of New York with Tony, Phil, and Thor. Well, to be clear: Tony, Steve, and Thor were the ones doing press; Phil was babysitting. Natasha and Clint were still kept away from as many major press events as possible. And Bruce was more than happy to have The Other Guy as an excuse to skip out on these kind of things..

"Will you put that shit down?" Clint demanded as he walked back into the common room from the bedroom. "You're not supposed to be lifting anything."

She waved him off. "It's not that heavy."

"I don't care if it's a box of feathers, put it down." Natasha waited until he was close enough to her before she dropped it—onto his toes. She knew the light box full of shirts wouldn't do any harm through Clint's combat boots, but it was the thought that counted.

"Oh, we're going to play it like that, are we? Game on, Romanoff." With that, he spun on his heel and marched back to the bedroom with her box of clothing.

"I think that's everything," Bruce declared as he entered the quarters. "The rest is ready for the movers to put in temporary storage."

Natasha nodded at him. "What are you wanting for lunch? I promised to pay in food."

"Indian sounds good."

She rolled the thought around in her head for a moment before agreeing. "I don't think that will give me heartburn too badly. Let's do it."

"From the place on Sixth?"

"Yeah, just get us the usual."

Before he could pull out his phone to place the order, Clint strode into the room whistling a tune. It took Natasha a second to realize what was different, but then her eyes fell on his waist and the elastic that was there: he was wearing a pair of her maternity pants. "Barton," she threatened, her voice low and dangerous, "take those off. Now."

He smirked. "It's been a while since you ordered me out of a pair of pants. This is a nice flashback." He grabbed the elastic band, pulled it away from his body, and let it go. It snapped loudly against his taut stomach, and he leveled a challenging look her direction.

"I can still murder you," she replied.

Bruce threw his hands up in a gesture of self-defense. "I don't want to be a witness to a felony. I'll just have your share of the food sent up when it gets here." With that, he left for the safety of anywhere that wasn't near Natasha.

"Clint?" she growled.

"Natasha?" he mocked in return.

"Take them off."

"Are you going to behave like a good little pregnant woman should and quit trying to lift stuff or do other things you shouldn't?"

"Fine," she sighed.

"Thank you," he said, turning to reenter Steve's bedroom.

Natasha followed him. She looked around the room while he exchanged her pants for his own. "Where am I going to put all my stuff?"

"I was kind of wondering why you brought up every single clothing item."

"Not all of them." He turned to give her a look. "I didn't bring my formal stuff or the things I know don't fit anymore. You try having a body that gets bigger by the day and then planning three week's worth of wardrobe around it."

"This might help," Clint said as he pulled a piece of paper taped to a closet door and began to silently read it.

"Was that addressed to you?" Natasha asked.

"Nope."

"Then give it here." He held it away from her, but surrendered the note when she gave him a quick slap to the ear.

Her name was on the front of the folded sheet, and she instantly recognized the fast-moving, looped handwriting as belonging to Steve. She unfolded the paper to read the message within.

_I left the top two drawers in the dresser free, as is the right half of the closet. (I don't know why Tony built me so much room for clothes. I don't have that many.) There's some food in the fridge. Help yourself before it goes bad. We're scheduled to return in eight days (which I'm sure you already knew.) Please don't worry bout being cleared out before we get back. Make yourself comfortable. –SR _

Natasha walked over to the closet and opened the right side to find nothing but empty hangers. As she turned to grab some pants from the bed, Clint opened the other half of the closet doors. "Quit snooping," she ordered.

"Please, like you're not going to go digging through this place with a fine-tooth comb."

She'd be a liar if she said the thought hadn't crossed her mind. And even though she was a master of deception, she knew Clint would never believe her if she told him she had no intention of doing such a thing.

Clint let loose a disgruntled huff as he pulled two items from the inhabited half of Steve's closet. "Dammit, I owe Bruce money," he proclaimed as he looked at the pairs of jeans he held in each hand.

"For what?"

"I bet him that Rogers didn't own anything made of denim." He inspected them closely. "Oh, c'mon, they still have the tags on them; that shouldn't count."

"Pepper made him buy them when she took him shopping a few weeks after he moved in here. She said it was like having her childhood dream of owning her own life-sized Ken doll come true."

Clint's gaze turned sharply at her and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Does that mean Rogers doesn't have any junk? Is that why he's like a Ken doll? Spending that long in the ice had to do something to 'em."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You know that's not true. Not after the group decontamination shower we had to all take together after the attack on the harbor."

He shuddered in reply. "Thor was a little too enthusiastic about that." He paused before his eyes fell to something to Natasha's left. "Of course, I could gain some more evidence to prove or disprove my theory by looking in here," he said as he moved to dig through the drawers of Steve's end table next to the bed.

Natasha smacked her left palm against his chest as he tried to pass. "Leave it," she said, her tone making it clear she wasn't kidding around.

"I'm just trying to have a little fun."

"He's volunteering to put up with me. You're not going to be mean to him. I'll do enough of that on my own without really trying." Natasha watched a quick flash of something dark cross Clint's face. "What?"

He shrugged. "We've spent years hearing stories from Phil about how great the almighty Captain America is. And then he showed up, and he actually _was_ that person. And now you're moving in here—"

"For a week, and only because he won't be here."

"—and he's gonna act like the father to your kid—"

"Haven't agreed to that."

"I just." He paused to shrug. "It was the three of us for so long—you, me, and Phil. And now?" He shook his head. "It's just changing."

Natasha stepped up in front of him and rested her hands on his cheeks. She kept them there for a moment before using her nails to claw down the sides of his face. She smirked as he hissed in pain. "You're being an idiot."

"Ugh, did you draw blood?" he asked, patting his cheeks. "Jesus, you psychopath."

"Lighten up, you're acting like a maudlin old woman."

"Compared to other things you've called me, that's almost a compliment."

She rolled her eyes as JARVIS notified them that their lunch was delivered to the common floor's kitchen. "Go get our food."

"When was I assigned to be your slave exactly?"

"When you brought me over to SHIELD. Now go."

"You go get it."

"Clint, you yelled at me ten minutes ago for lifting things."

He shrugged. "Food doesn't count."

* * *

The next six days went by quickly. There were two fights in that time, and with Phil out, Natasha was the point person on comms. From the safety of SHIELD headquarters, she called tactics, filled out paperwork, and handled organization of clean-up crews.

When she wasn't busy with SHIELD duties, she found herself studying the life of one Steve Rogers. She sat in the rooms of his quarters just observing, measuring him up to see if his famous honor was high enough to meet the standards of taking care of her daughter. Natasha knew it was, knew he was far more honorable than her, so what right did she have to judge? But there was a peace that came to studying someone's life, a familiarity that she felt at ease with.

From all her observations she was reaffirmed of things she already knew. Steve led a simple life. The only technological extravagance that he ever asked of Tony was a digital system he used for some of his drawings and paintings.

He didn't have much of his old life with him anymore. Yes, there was a vintage flair to his furniture and appliances, but with the exception of his trusty shield, there were no actual remnants from before his time in the ice. Natasha knew that he'd given a lot of his things to Phil as "Congratulations on not actually being dead" presents. She wondered if he did that because it hurt too much to look at the faces of friends who were gone or because he wanted to push it away in order to focus on his future.

She also decided that even though Steve Rogers was the epitome of being a "good man", he was still a man. There was an entire drawer in his kitchen devoted to various forms of jerky. Despite not being able to ever get drunk again, there was still beer in the fridge. His version of cleaning included stuffing things underneath the bed or couch cushions to give the appearance of tidiness. And for some reason, this was what set Natasha most at ease.

At the end of day six, she had planned on starting to pack her things up. Even though he'd said she didn't need to worry about rushing out, Natasha knew how nice it felt to come back to your own place after extended time away, especially when that time away included lots of press and non-stop Stark. So, yes, that was her plan.

Her plan failed.

Her day hadn't stopped. She thankfully ate dinner before leaving headquarters. Because when she returned to Steve's quarters, what was only supposed to be a quick power nap before dealing with more paperwork turned into flat-out sleep.

Sleep that was interrupted around three in the morning by the sound of footsteps. On instinct, she grabbed the pistol on the nightstand, hid it under the covers, and waited for the steps to grow closer. When the intruder entered the bedroom, she bolted upright and took aim.

She immediately regretted moving so quickly when the intruder split into two wavering shadows.

"Natasha—it's me," it spoke, arms quickly raised. "JARVIS, lights on forty percent."

In the soft illumination, she saw that it was indeed Steve. She waited for her double vision to settle, but kept the gun on him. "You aren't supposed to be back yet."

"Our event in Tokyo was cancelled. I sent you a message about it. I just thought you didn't feel like answering."

She switched the hold on her gun from her right hand to her left and then blindly fumbled behind her for her phone. Once she confirmed his story, she clicked the safety on her weapon back into place and put it back on the nightstand. She then gave her head a quick shake in hopes of dismissing the remnants of her dizziness.

"You okay?" Steve asked quietly, still standing in the entrance to his bedroom.

"I just sat up too quickly. I'll be fine in a second."

"Lay back down," he ordered as moved around to her side of the bed. "Get your feet out from under the covers." She followed his orders more out of habit than anything else. He quickly grabbed the pillow from his side of the bed as well as the seat and back cushions from the armchair situated between the dresser and the full-length mirror. He stacked the objects into a fluffy tower and then gently placed her feet on top of them so they were elevated above her heart. "Don't move," he said before slipping back out to the main area of his quarters. He returned a moment later with a glass of water in each hand. He extended one to her before swigging a drink from the other. She felt his eyes study her as a minute passed by. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded. "Thanks. Although by doing this, you've busted yourself on your cleaning habits," she said as she pointed to the now-exposed trio of socks lying on the cushion-free chair.

He gave her a grin. "Like you honestly didn't figure that out already. You've had, what, six days in here? I'd be shocked if I have any secrets left from you."

Natasha felt a sting of guilt at his words. "Your journals," she answered quietly.

"My what?"

"You art journals," she said with a bit more volume. "I didn't look through those. Your studio was my favorite room to sit in—there's something oddly comforting about the scent of pencil shavings. But I saw your sketchbooks and journals in there. I didn't look through them. I know the difference between gathering information and stripping someone completely of their privacy."

A look she couldn't quite identify crossed over his face before he nodded and gave a solemn, "Thanks." He ran a hand over his tired face. "Go back to sleep. I didn't want to wake you up. I'm just going to change, and then I'll go sleep on the couch."

She rolled her eyes at him. "That's stupid. I'm not whale-sized yet; there's room for you in the bed."

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You're going to make me feel that way if I end up depriving you of a mattress after what you've had to endure for the last week." She raised her right hand in the air. "I solemnly swear not to jump your bones in the middle of the night. Not without your permission, at least." He shook his head at her. "C'mon, Rogers, look at me. I'm fat, my feet are stuck up in the air so I don't pass out from sitting up—really, I'm not that dangerous."

"You were pointing a gun at me five minutes ago."

She shrugged. "It was dark."

"Does that mean I run the risk of it happening again when I turn the lights out?"

"Only if you snore."

He huffed a quick and silent laugh. "No, I think we're good on that one." Steve moved to the dresser and on instinct pulled open the top drawer, which was now filled with Natasha's underwear. He quickly shut the drawer and muttered an apology. "That's usually where my t-shirts are." He bent over and pulled out the bottom drawer. Once he retrieved a shirt and pair of pajama pants, he slipped into the bathroom.

While he was occupied, Natasha pulled his pillow out from the bottom of the stack underneath her feet and placed it on the other side of the bed. She kicked the chair cushions off the bed, slid her feet back beneath the covers, and rolled over onto her left side.

When Steve emerged from the bathroom, he replaced the cushions on the chair and crawled under the covers with a weary sigh. "JARVIS, kill the lights please."

Once the room was pitched into darkness, Steve rolled onto his side with his back to Natasha. She shook her head at how close he was to the edge of the mattress. "You're going to fall off the edge if you're not careful."

He scooted his way closer to her by a few inches before stilling once more. She was almost asleep again when he called her name. "If I start shivering, get out of the bed as fast as you can."

"Okay," she replied slowly.

With a huff, he rolled onto his back. "That," he said pointing to the lamp on his nightstand, "is the third one I've had since I moved in here. Every now and then I get nightmares about the ice. I start shivering, and even though I know it's a dream, I still try and fight my way out of it." He paused to look at her in the darkness. "If I start to shiver, get out of the way. I know how much of a punch I can pack, and I know I can't control myself when I get like that."

"Does this happen often?"

"Maybe once every couple of months," he shrugged.

She nodded. "I'll do that as long as you promise to wake me up if I start crying and speaking Russian in my sleep."

"Promise." He rolled back over on his side. "G'night."

* * *

Natasha awoke to the smell of coffee and tried to snuggle back down in the covers for a minute before giving in and facing the day. She followed her nose out to the kitchen where Steve, coffee mug in hand, was inspecting his refrigerator.

"Not much in there," she commented as she crossed the open common area to sit on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. "Restocking that was on my list of things to do today before I got out of your hair."

"You're not in my hair," he said. "Hope I didn't wake you up."

"Not you. Someone else decided I should get my day started," she answered while rubbing a hand on her stomach.

"Yeah?"

Natasha nodded and grabbed for a banana. "She started moving a few days ago. Well, she was probably moving before then, but I finally noticed it." She caught his fingers tighten against the coffee mug, and she gave him a small smile. "You wouldn't be able to feel anything." His eyes dropped and his cheeks turned a faint pink at having his thoughts read. "Clint tried for an hour the other night. Too early."

"What's it feel like?"

She shrugged. "Flutters." The impossibly girlish word felt foreign and heavy on her tongue, but she lacked a better description.

"Did you handle that okay?"

Natasha snickered at the question, which was a valid one to ask. "Actually, this milestone didn't faze me as much," she answered, her eyes turning towards her stomach. "Now that I know about her genetic makeup, things are definitely less scary. Being five weeks out from when she could technically survive outside of me helps, too," she added softly. She gave a quick shake of her head and looked back up at Steve. "I'm sure I'll go back to freaking out when it comes closer for her to be born. I should probably start issuing blanket apologies now."

"I'm sure the rest of us will be a collective nervous wreck, too," he chuckled. He finished his coffee and went to wash the mug in the sink. "I was thinking about a run; want to join me?"

Her shoulders sank. "I'd love to, but running is starting to get tricky. My center of gravity is starting to shift, and it's pissing me off. I don't want to slow you down. I'm sure you need to run off some stress after doing press for the last week."

He nodded. "My least favorite thing in the world."

"Was it that awful?"

"Answering the same ten questions over and over again? Being surrounded by people acting fake? Being around Tony in schmooze mode for six straight days?" He shrugged. "Actually, I'm kind of used to it by now." He paused before adding, "They asked where you've been."

Natasha delayed her response by taking another bite of her banana. She didn't pay much attention to what the gossip and news reporters had to say about the Avengers, mostly since it was a mound of lies, but she'd heard pieces of people speculating about her absence from the team. "What did you tell them?"

"Stuck to the company line: we don't comment on the whereabouts and duties of our teammates for security purposes."

"Did they buy that?"

He shrugged. "We'll see. You haven't had any trouble have you?"

She shook her head. "No one knows who I am when I walk around the city. And they certainly aren't expecting me to be pregnant, so that's one upside to getting big."

Half of his mouth kicked up into a small grin. "I was afraid of mentioning it, but you have gone from looking like you ate a big breakfast to distinctly pregnant."

"I can still fit into a good portion of my regular pants, thank you."

He held his hands up in self-defense. "I didn't say you looked bad or anything." His eyes swept across the space between them. "There're fourteen things within your reach that you could use to kill me, aren't there?"

She inspected the space for herself. "Sixteen. And that's if I decided I needed to use a weapon at all."

He smiled. "I'm going to go run, but, hey." He waited until she returned his eye contact. "If it makes you uncomfortable to be here when I'm home, then okay. But if you don't want to move your stuff again, then stay. Please."

She pushed down the tightening feeling in her chest, and instead focused on being better at accepting offers to make her life easier and more comfortable. "I suppose we could try it for a day or two."


	12. Chapter 12

**NOTES:** Thanks as always to the_wordbutler for helping me make my words better. Also, a warning for some vivid nightmares.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Natasha apologized as she walked briskly into the conference room.

"Everything okay?" Phil asked from his seat at the head of the table.

"Slept through my alarm," she answered. She sat down to Phil's right and began looking at the files laid out in front of them.

Phil leaned toward her, took a sniff, and then sat back in his chair with amusement shining in his eyes. "Trying a new perfume today?"

She glared daggers at him even though she knew it wouldn't faze him in the least. "In my haste of getting here, I grabbed the wrong bottle of body wash in the shower and didn't realize it till I was already dressed."

He gave in to a small smile. "How's the living situation going, aside from mistaken soaps?"

"It's been a week and no one's been killed or injured. So, better than I imagined."

And it was true. For the most part they'd gotten along fine, something to be expected of people who lived the kind of lives they did. They were accustomed to sharing personal space with fellow soldiers and teammates. Of course, there was still the usual adjustments that had to occur—who was going to shower when, getting used to sharing sheets, apologies for when someone's alarm sounded before the other needed to wake.

The three evenings where they were both alone in Steve's quarters had been quiet. They'd ordered take out from somewhere, and then Natasha provided color commentary on whatever show on the History Channel Steve usually watched in a continuous attempt to catch up on civilization and how people currently viewed the past. It had spawned conversations on politics as well as how governments and society should behave.

They tossed around ideas and opinions on the matter until Natasha yawned too many times for Steve's liking and announced that he was tired and going to bed, always giving her the excuse to say "I'll join you," instead of being the first to admit defeat.

"Is this a permanent thing?" he asked. "The two of you?"

Natasha sighed. "Can we not girl talk right now? I have a mission going live in six hours."

"Fine," he answered before going through the papers spread in front of him. The pair spent the next few hours discussing things like the validity of intelligence gathered in the last few days, g mission debriefs, and future press events. "Let me take you to lunch," Phil offered once they were done with their work. "Jasper found a new food truck a few blocks over."

Her stomach grumbled at the thought. "As long as it's quick," she answered, her mind already in mission countdown mode.

Once they hit fresh air, Natasha squinted at the bright late-April sun, and Phil pulled on a pair of sunglasses. "So, are things really going okay?" he asked, maneuvering behind and around her to put himself between her and the street.

"Why are you asking me this again?"

He shrugged and did his best to look passive. "Renovations on your floor will be finished in a week. What are you going to do then?"

"Move back into my place. I thought that was the whole reason for making the changes in the first place."

"What about Captain Rogers?"

"What about him?" she challenged.

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for traffic to pass before crossing the street. Phil kept his eyes focused straight ahead for a moment before his chin tucked down towards his chest and he answered quietly, "You'd be surprised how easily it is to get used to having someone around all the time, and how nice that can feel."

Natasha turned her head to look at him. In the close to seven years she'd known Phil Coulson, she could count out the number of times he'd said such an emotionally revealing statement on her fingers. "Then maybe that's even more of a reason for me to go back to my own floor. Alone." She turned her focus back to the intersection before her. "I felt like I lost a piece of myself when you played dead a year ago. I thought I'd never be a whole person again." She shook her head. "Attachments can bring so much trouble. I already have to add the baby to the list of liabilities, now. I don't know if there's room for someone else."

"You could do worse," he commented, his gaze turning in her direction.

"And he could do so much better."

"Maybe he doesn't want to."

She gave a snort of mild disgust. "Well, then he's an idiot."

The left side of the man's mouth kicked up in a small grin. "I have records of IQ tests that say otherwise."

* * *

The mission—an undercover meeting between two SHIELD agents and an AIM double-agent—went off well. The only hitch was a mechanical failure in the car the agents were using. Once a back-up ride was arranged and the agents were tucked away in their safehouse, Natasha left headquarters and went back to the Tower. It was after eleven by the time she got into Steve's quarters.

She was surprised to find them dark and empty. She'd yet to see Steve that day; he'd been gone on a run when she woke up late. She stopped herself before making an inquiry to JARVIS for the man's whereabouts.

Natasha thought about starting her debrief regarding the night's escapades, but the exhaustion in her bones led her to decide that it wasn't worth putting up the front of attempting to work. She put her files and tablet on the kitchen counter and went to the bedroom. She changed into one of Clint's old t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts before climbing into bed.

She would've been asleep almost instantly if weren't for the flutters that kicked up in her abdomen as soon as the rest of her body went still. She rubbed a hand over the bump. "Shhhh… We're going to sleep now." The movements didn't stop. "I hope you listen to me better after you're born."

Natasha took in the moment the best she could. A life was moving inside her, something she had believed could never happen. And for now, they were both safe. So for a few minutes, she lay in the quite darkness, pushing away fears of everything turning against her. And for a moment, she was able to soak in her life without the haze of anxiety.

The movements soon stopped, and Natasha felt herself falling towards sleep, but started awake once more when she heard Steve enter the quarters. He opened the door to the bedroom slowly, so she called out that she was still awake in hopes that he wouldn't feel the need to sneak around her.

He came into the bedroom and Natasha immediately noticed the hard lines on his face and the faint smell of motorcycle exhaust on his clothes. He sat down at the foot of the bed and began to silently unlace and remove his boots.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, but did nothing else to answer her question. She stretched out her leg and stuck her big toe into his back through the sheets.

His shoulders hunched forward at the contact. "I spent all day with a reporter," he answered. "Some exposé piece on getting to know Captain America." A huff of bitter laughter expelled from his lungs and he shook his head. "Like selling bonds all over again," he muttered before grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants and going into the bathroom.

Natasha listened to the water start in the shower and considered her options. She knew there was more that he wasn't saying, but she didn't feel like it was her place to push. Her memory flitted over conversations of his distaste over people acting fake, his exhaustion with the smoke and mirrors that come with keeping a good face with the public.

Her options at the moment were to roll over and sleep—that would be the one she'd prefer. Another possibility came from her training. It reminded her that a good way to comfort and distract him would be to strip and join him in the shower. But her training didn't cover her trying to use steamy shower sex as a distraction while possessing a pregnant stomach, nor was it best suited for a man who would find such an action more than likely appalling.

She settled for her third choice. She waited for him to exit the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He climbed into bed a moment later and stared up at the ceiling. Since she was on her side and facing him, Natasha could still see that his jaw was clinched tight.

Of its own volition, her right hand slid across the sheet and came to lightly rest on the crook of his right arm. He closed his eyes at the touch, but she also felt his muscles tense and heard his breathing hitch.

She didn't bother with trite words of comfort, mostly because she didn't know any. He never told her to leave him be, so that was how she fell asleep.

When she woke in the middle of the night in need of the bathroom, she felt guilty pulling away from him, especially since at some point his left hand had stretched across his chest to rest atop of hers.

* * *

Natasha made a mental note the following day to invest in sportier maternity tops the next day; she wasn't sure her oversized t-shirt was going to cut it for yoga with Pepper. Natasha had been unsure about endeavoring into the pre-natal session, especially with a face as familiar as Pepper's.

"Please," the other woman said with a shake of her head, "my fitness club is exclusive. No one's going to say anything. Besides, half the women there have already slept with Tony and know that he had a vasectomy ages ago." Natasha crooked an eyebrow in response. "It was seen as a liability to the company," Pepper explained. "So it's decided—Natalie Rushman, my knocked-up-occasional-PA, invited me to come along with her to a pre-natal yoga class. And then, afterwards, we're going to talk nursery furniture."

"I knew there was a catch," Natasha muttered.

The outing had the benefit of allowing Natasha to slip into a cover identity for the whole experience. She missed the feeling of becoming someone else for a little while.

Once the arrived in the small studio, Natasha saw that the class was filled with a handful of women. Like Pepper, the members to this particular fitness club were business execs, or they were married to one at some point in time. A trio of them came up to the pair before things started and chatted with the two redheads briefly.

"Something you want to tell us, Pepper?" one of them, a Nancy who was a vice-president at a media company if Natasha recalled correctly, asked as the knot of women approached.

Pepper shook her head. "I already have a child; his name is Tony. You remember my assistant, Natalie. I came with her."

The women's collective gaze shifted from Pepper's face to Natasha's stomach, causing her to fight the urge to throw a protective arm around her waist. "How far along are you?" Nancy asked.

Natasha hesitated in her answer. She was used to putting a bit of herself into her cover simply to have a base to work form. But now, the personal information involved her child. A part of her brain reminded her that these women weren't a threat, that it was okay to be honest, but Natasha still fought against the idea before giving in. She could also feel the time before her hesitant answer slipping away and cursed herself for growing rusty in situations like this. "Twenty weeks," she answered, the truth finding its way out of her.

The woman in the middle—Elaine—smiled at her. "Halfway point. Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?"

"Not yet," Natasha answered; they didn't need to know everything. Natasha was grateful for Pepper not showing the least bit of emotion to tip off the lie. She understood the desire for keeping personal information private.

The class started a moment later, and while Natasha preferred her exercise to involve breaking things or people, she did feel better leaving the class than when she came in.

Happy drove the pair back to the Tower where they had lunch in Tony and Pepper's penthouse. Salads were waiting on them at the bar in the living room. Pepper barely let Natasha get a bite of food in her mouth before giving in to gossip. "So are you sleeping with him or what?"

"Who? Steve?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "No, Thor. Yes, Steve."

Natasha tilted her head. "Thor? Really?" Pepper shrugged while chewing a bite of her lunch. "Do you have some electricity or power-supply fetish you haven't told me about?"

"You wouldn't take the chance to sleep with a god?"

"I draw the line at aliens."

"You haven't answered my question," Pepper stated in the tone of voice Natasha recognized from many a board meeting and most interactions with Tony.

"We sleep in the same bed. Nothing else happens."

Pepper gave her a look of dissatisfaction. "You're a disappointment to women everywhere." Natasha shook her head in response. "No, really—all women everywhere. And some men. You've had to at least thought about it."

"Of course I have, especially when the pregnancy hormones make me hornier than Tony."

"So?"

"So," Natasha answered while stabbing lettuce with her fork, "it doesn't mean anything happens. He's not my personal sex toy, he's Steve Rogers—nicest person to ever exist."

"I would do dirty, dirty things to that man."

"What would Tony say if he heard you say that?"

"He'd ask to watch, record, join, or some combination thereof." Natasha shrugged to concede Pepper the point. "Well, if you're not going to give me any lurid details—and I firmly believe you're holding out on me about _something_—then it's time to discuss furniture."

Natasha heaved sigh before stuffing another forkful of salad in her mouth. Once she swallowed, she tried valiantly not to whine. "Can't you just pick it out for me? I'll give you my debit card, and you can just go to town."

"You're not paying for this, Tony and I are."

She shook her head before swallowing her food to argue. "Pepper, thank you, but no. I can afford new furniture. You already let us live here rent-free. You're paying for the remodel to my floor, let me do this."

Her friend waved it off. "Consider it an early baby shower gift."

Natasha felt her stomach drop in dread. "Please tell me you're not planning a baby shower. Think of the people we know; there's no way something like that doesn't turn out to be a disaster. Even if you're the one planning it."

Pepper's bottom lip stuck out in the faintest of pouts. "I never get to throw fun parties anymore. Granted, knowing the crowd you around with, it's entirely possible the gifts will consist of only weapons or security measures, but I'll live with that."

"I'm not going to win any part of this discussion, am I?"

"Against me? You should know better than that." Pepper reached behind her for a tablet and began to pull up images of different cribs. "Which do you like?" she asked, showing them to Natasha.

Natasha had a keen eye for aesthetics when she wanted to, but this was not one of those times. They were all beds for babies, and they all looked the same. What did it matter what color or shape they were in? "You do a wonderful job at pulling a room together, why don't you pick what you think is best?"

Pepper's shoulders slumped slightly at her words. "Are you sure? You don't want to have any say at all?"

Natasha sat down her fork to count points off on her fingers. "No pink. No sparkles. Nothing frilly."

"Anything you _do_ want?"

Natasha picked up her fork and pushed her food around a bit before answering quietly, "I heard yellow walls would be nice."

* * *

Her hands were covered in blood. It wasn't a new sensation, except for the fact that the blood was her own. She was strapped across the chest and legs to a table, bright lights shining into her eyes. Voices spoke in Russian all around her. He stomach was exposed, slashed open and empty. She was left alone to bleed out on the operating table, ignored by the others in the room. But none of that mattered. The only thing Natasha could focus on was the shrieking.

The horrific sound came from the baby stolen out of her body. Natasha strained against the straps, but couldn't see past the doctors surrounding the smaller examination table to catch a glimpse of her daughter. She begged for them to move, to let her at least see the child, but they didn't listen to her. She tried to sit up against the restraints, but they only tightened against her and, a moment later, began to shake her.

"Natasha!" Steve yelled, finally bringing her out of the nightmare. She jolted and gasped. Steve's hands let go of her shoulders to give her breathing room, and he leaned back from a kneeling position over her on the mattress to roll back and sit on his feet. "You're okay," he told her calmly, despite the worry in his eyes.

She blinked against the harsh light in the room and wiped the tears and sweat from her face. Using her left hand to push herself upright, her right went to her stomach. She rubbed the growing bump in hopes of coaxing some movement out of the baby, but no such luck.

Steve must've seen her worry and asked JARVIS if there was anyway for the AI to run a check on the baby. "I can project the sound of the heartbeat, if you wish," JARVIS replied. Natasha nodded, and immediately the room was filled with a rapid beat.

"See? She's okay." Steve said, still not moving from his sitting position a couple feet from her. "Are you?"

Natasha shook her head. It took a couple of deep breaths before she found her voice. "Department X—the scientists for the KGB—they hunted me down. They said I'd failed. They said they were going to take her and make her into what I should've been. So they strapped me to a table and cut her out of me. And I couldn't stop them. I couldn't save her."

Steve scooted forward until his knees touched the side of her left leg. His left hand reached out to cover her right over her stomach, and his other hand gently turned her chin to meet his eyes. "That will never happen. Not ever. Those men are gone."

"There are still others like them."

"And it still wouldn't be enough for that to happen to you. Because in order for that to come true, there would be a lot of dead bodies in the way. Every single one of us; Coulson, Hill, and probably Pepper, too. And you know just how much it would take to bring all of us down." He leaned his face forward a fraction of an inch to emphasize his words. "We would never let that happen to you, or to her."

Natasha closed her eyes and felt fresh tears fall down her cheeks. She did her best to let his words and the sound of her daughter's steady heartbeat soothe her and calm her frantic nerves. Steve's hand left her chin to swipe the tracks of tears from her cheeks, and she found herself leaning into the touch. He spread his palm out for her to rest her head in his hand while he slowly swept his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. A moment later, his forehead came to rest against hers, his nose lightly pressing into her cheek.

Whatever calming effect this man had on her was gone as her heart rate picked up again, but this time not out of fear. In need of more contact, more assurance from him, she tilted her chin up until her mouth found his. The first kiss was quick, a soft brush of lips. The second, initiated by Steve, wasn't. Much like the man himself, it was an exercise in restrained strength. He pulled away from her a moment later with a shake of his head. She reached a hand up to run through his hair and bring him back to her, but his hand caught her wrist and pulled it away.

"I don't want you to wake up regretting something in a few hours," he told her. She inhaled to argue against him, but he shook his head and cut her off. "C'mon. You need your rest." With that, he lay back down and asked JARVIS to turn the lights off.

Natasha slid back down into the sheets, as well. They both lay silently on their backs, the only noise in the room the sound of the baby's heartbeat still playing. Then, she rolled onto her side and looked at him. His eyes were locked on the ceiling and his right hand was in a fist over his head, his thumb rubbing small circles. Slowly, she slid her right hand across the space between them until it came to rest on his chest. She felt his body tense at the contact, but he didn't say or do anything to stop it. Instead, after a pause, his left hand came up to cover her right. She let him have a minute to adjust to the touch before the rest of her body followed the same path, and she pressed herself up against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Unlike the night on the couch a month ago, his right arm came down to drape over her side. He pulled her as flush as she could be against him, and tilted his face to put his nose against her curls before he softly kissed her forehead and laid his head back against the pillow.

She fell asleep in his arms with the sound of her daughter's heartbeat in her ears. Six months ago, maybe even six weeks ago, she wouldn't have recognized herself at all. But for once, and possibly the first time in her life, she resolutely surrendered to her vulnerability, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**NOTES: **Thanks, as always, to **the_wordbutler** for helping me clean my words

* * *

Natasha awoke with Steve's arms wrapped around her. She sighed in contentment as his large hands slowly roamed over her body. Her eyes remained closed in an effort to just stay in the moment and enjoy the sensations. She took comfort in the warmth and contact of the skin of her back pressed up against his bare chest. "Morning," he mumbled before placing a kiss on her neck. She smiled and turned in his arms to get a good look at him. The morning light gave his hair a golden hue. She ran her fingers along his scalp, giving him an even worse case of bed head. His eyes closed at the touch, and the sight drew her mouth to his. This kiss was slow, but there was no doubt about the intensity behind it. When his tongue made contact against hers, a moan escaped the back of her throat. It was then that she picked up on a new sensation—facial hair. Not typical morning stubble, but something fuller. Pulling back, what should've been Steve's face now had black hair, brown eyes, and a goatee.

Natasha was jerked back to reality by the sound of a pained moan that morphed into hard breaths through the nose. She was unceremoniously dumped from Steve's hold as he rolled away and curled in on himself. Already knowing the answer before asking, she gave a small grimace and sat up in the bed. "You okay?"

"You kneed me," he answered, face still tight in pain. "Another bad dream?"

"You turned into Tony."

He gave a quick bark of laughter, but still remained in a protective ball, facing away from her. "Sounds like a nightmare to me."

"Yes," she said, her fingers lightly brushing against the empty mattress between them. "Especially since we were naked."

His head snapped around, and he looked at her over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Naked?"

"Very."

A smile crept along his face. "Are you really admitting to having sex dreams about me that easily?"

She gave him a challenging smirk in return. "And not for the first time."

He groaned and rolled away from her once more. "I think your knee was less painful than hearing that."

She shot a look of frustration at his back. "You could do something about it," she muttered.

Steve went still at her words. When he rolled over, any humor that had been on his face moments before was gone. "Natasha—" he started before shaking his head and sitting up. "Look, I know I said I wasn't going to bring this up again, but I made that offer and…" He sighed and ran his fingers through his already-mussed hair, causing Natasha to fight flashbacks to her dreams. "Don't think I wouldn't love to… with you and all, but, I don't know how to separate things. If I'm with you, then I _will_ end up taking care of her, too."

"And if you're taking care of her as some kind of father figure, you'll want to be with me, also. Package deal." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on top of his drawn up knees, looked down, and nodded. "What happened to 'we don't have to fall in love'?"

"You kissed me. I really believed before last night that I could keep the two ideas separate from each other, but last night showed me how much I was lying to myself."

She scooted backwards with a sigh until she was leaning against the headboard of his bed. She bit her lip as she tried to formulate words in her head. "It's been a while since I considered a long term relationship—if ever, really. I haven't been ignoring what you said. I just don't know how to take it." She paused and looked at her chipped fingernail polish as if it would have some clue how to make this conversation go more easily. "I think I'm going to need more time before I know for sure."

He nodded, still keeping his back to her and staring at his own hands. She suddenly felt like she was infringing on his privacy, a feeling that felt foreign after being around him so much in the last week. A tightness circled around her chest, and she found it difficult to breathe.

"I'll have my stuff out of here before the day is over."

That got him to face her. "What are you talking about?"

She pursed her lips before answering. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, not in your own home." She moved to get out of the bed but was kept in place when his hand grabbed her wrist.

"Please stop running away from me," he implored quietly. His words caused the knot of guilt in her stomach to triple in size. "Just because you don't have an answer right now doesn't mean I'm going to kick you out of here, out of my bed or my life. You don't have to tell me today, this month, even before the baby's born. It's fine."

"Except it's not," she countered. She took a deep breath and let the words she'd been keeping inside fall out in a rushed heap. "Because what if I want to try this? What if I want you? And what if I don't know for how long." She shook her head. "I'm not built for marriage. I honestly don't have a clue how I'm going to function as a mother, but I know I'm not ready to jump into some white-picket-fence life with someone. And you…"

He nodded. "I want the picket fence." He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. "So what do we do?"

She blew a curl out of her face, but it fell back into her downcast eyes. "I don't know."

"I never said anything about marriage, you know."

"But you want it."

He shrugged. "I haven't had the greatest luck at getting the things that I want, but for the most part, my life's turned out better for it."

Natasha wanted to believe that would turn out to be the truth again, but she wasn't sure it would. She was a very messy variable to throw into an equation, and she didn't want him to give up everything he'd hoped for to bend to her will. She knew this would require compromise, but she just couldn't think of any ground she was willing to yield just yet.

Steve turned and looked at the clock on his side of the bed. "I promised Thor I'd do some hand-to-hand combat with him this morning," he said as he climbed out from under the sheets. When he looked at her, she knew he was trying to hide the hurt he felt, but either she'd gotten much better at reading him or his resolve with faltering greatly. "I'll tell you the same thing I did when I first got back: don't feel like you have to leave on account of me. If it's too uncomfortable for you, then okay. But don't leave because you think it'll make me feel better, because it won't." He grabbed his gym bag from the inside of his closet floor, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas or put anything on his bare feet, and left for the training floor of the Tower.

Natasha let her head fall back against the headboard with a hard thunk. "What did I just do?" she bitterly asked the air around her.

* * *

After a shower, her feet led her to Phil and Clint's door. Being a Friday, she knew Phil would've left for the office at least an hour ago. She signaled her presence, and Clint yelled for her to come in. He was lounging on the couch, a tablet displaying the forms for an upcoming mission brief on the screen. "I thought your doctor's appointment wasn't 'til this afternoon. Did I get my schedule mixed up?" He paused and took one look at her before sitting upright on the couch. "I'm going to put an arrow in him." With that, he was off the sofa and looking around for the nearest bow and quiver.

"Calm down. It's not his fault." Clint stilled, but didn't say anything. His face told her he was having trouble believing that her pain wasn't caused directly by Steve. "You don't need to injure him. I've already done enough of that today already."

"Emotionally or physically?"

"Both."

He gave her a small grin. "That's my girl."

She bristled at the joke, at the stigma she'd carried around with her for so long of being a, occasionally-lethal heartbreaker. Because that was never her intention. Well, maybe a few times when she was on missions as Black Widow, but not as Natasha.

"What happened?" he asked softly, seriousness taking over the expression on his face.

She moved to the couch he'd just left, and he sat down beside her. In need of physical contact, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and she was comforted when his arm wrapped around her and pulled her close against him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and waited for her to talk. A part of her brain found it darkly amusing that the time in her life when she constantly had someone with her was also one of the seasons where she felt most alone and possessed a nearly constant need for physical touch. "Do you think you'd ever marry Phil?" she asked a moment later.

"God, I hate it when you start a conversation in the middle and not at the beginning like a normal person."

"Would you?"

He sighed into her hair. "I don't know. We've never talked about it. I mean, technically—not counting the time he was playing dead and all—we've only been together for about seven months. Marriage hasn't really come up."

"But would you?"

Clint took a moment to think out his answer. "Maybe. If that's what he wanted. I'd probably freak out about it a time or two, but if that's what he wanted…" He shrugged to complete his answer.

"What about what you want?"

"I want him to happy," he answered with an ease that Natasha was jealous of. "What, did Cap propose or something?"

"No. He just… I guess I'm now a package deal."

"Yeah, I could've called that he'd finally admit to feeling that way."

She pulled back away from him. "What are you talking about?"

Clint tilted his head and gave her a look of annoyance. "You can't be serious. You of all people missed the fact that he's been attracted to you for a while? Like even before the baby?"

Natasha shook her head. "I've grown immune to noticing men lust after me."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turned to look at her. "This isn't just lust—well, I mean, that's there, too. But there's other stuff caught up in it—respect for who you are, and what you do and how you do it. At the very least he admires you, and has for some time now."

She tried to let the words seep into her mind, but couldn't pull it off. "I don't think I can be who he wants me to be."

He shrugged, his words moving more and more with each word he spoke. "Cap doesn't seem like the guy who would ask someone to entirely change their identity. He might push you to become a better version of yourself, one you yourself may not be able to see within you. But just being around him—at least for me—I want to do better, be better."

"But I'm not sure what he wants is 'better.'"

"Okay, change of approach. What do you want?"

Her mind struggled to come up with an answer. It wasn't the first time she'd been asked this question, and like in the previous instances, she didn't know what to say. Her brain had been wired to accept her goals for life from others. She was dependent on her handlers and commanding officers to determine what she wanted to accomplish. But this wasn't some mission, this was her existence; it was a lesson she'd been trying to learn over the last seven years, ever since taking Clint's hand and walking out of her old identity. Seven years, and she still didn't have a clue what to say.

She opened her mouth and hoped that honest words would come out of it. "I want my daughter to be healthy and to be safe. I want her to make her own decisions for her life. I don't want her to ever feel like she's being controlled by someone else. I want her to be free and loved."

"And that's all well and good, but what do you want for you, Tasha?"

She wanted to try and answer that, wanted to truly admit to a purpose of her own for the first time, but panic settled into her chest whenever she tried to form a syllable. She shook her head.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder again, and pulled both of them back to rest against the couch. His arm tightened until she was flush against his side once more. "Well," he started, his voice soft, "let me tell you what I want for you. I want you to be taken care of. I want someone to respect you for everything you are and've overcome, instead of just seeing you as the hottest woman they've ever seen. But they also _need_ to see you as the hottest woman they've ever seen. I want to see you trust someone. I want you to be comfortable with who you are. I want you to admit weakness.

"And, Tasha?" he waited until she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Admitting weakness and acting weak are two very different things. I want you to learn that, too."

* * *

The pair of them kept quiet as they waited for Doctor McClellan to make her way into the exam room a few hours later. Banter disguising nerves wasn't what was needed today. The physician came into the room a moment later; Natasha knew the doctor felt the tension in the room by the way the woman's smile faltered a bit. "Everything okay?"

"Rough morning," Natasha answered.

"Are you feeling alright? Has something changed?"

"Not physically," she replied.

McClellan's gaze switched back and forth between Natasha and Clint like they were playing tennis before she shrugged and started in with her examination. Once she was done measuring, writing things on charts, asking routine questions, and feeling around, she wheeled the sonogram machine into place. And for the first time since she woke up, Natasha felt her mood lift a bit. "Another one?" she asked the doctor hopefully.

The physician shook her head at her patient. "Do you read any of the information I give you at all? Yes, another one." She doused Natasha's abdomen with the clear goo before pressing the probe against her skin. A moment later, the screen was filled with a grainy image of the baby in profile. "Looks like you're going to have a thumb sucker on your hands," McClellan commented as she hit keys to take more measurements as well as still pictures.

She moved the probe around to get looks at the baby from various angles. Natasha's fingers itched for contact yet again, and she reached out to take Clint's hand. He squeezed her fingers in return, but his eyes never left the screen, nor did the grin leave his face.

Once she was done with all her note-taking, McClellan put the probe away and handed Natasha a towel to clean off her stomach. "She looks good," the doctor commented as she wheeled the machine back out of the way. "How many pictures am I going to need to print off?"

"At least a dozen," Clint answered. "I feel like showing off."

Natasha gave a good-natured eye roll before turning her attention back to the doctor. She noted that the physician's body language wasn't as relaxed as it had been before. "Anything else? Are you sure she's alright?"

The doctor muttered something about "damn spies" while finishing her notes. Once her pen stopped moving, she turned her eyes on Natasha. "She's a little small for where she should be right now. Nothing to get worried or upset over. Probably means that she's just going to end up being petite like her mother, which given her genetic makeup is not surprising."

"What do I need to do?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing. It's not something you can control. We'll keep a close eye on her, obviously, but it just probably means you're going to end up with a smaller baby—which is something you should be grateful for when it comes time for delivery."

Natasha tried not to feel anxiety at the news, but she wasn't entirely capable of it. This day's habit of turning nice things into giant sources of stress was getting old rather quickly.

After the appointment, Natasha spent ten solid hours working at headquarters. She wasn't using it as an excuse to hide from people, or at least one person in particular. The mission Sitwell was overseeing in Myanmar had gone south, and Natasha helped Coulson organize it back into something that didn't look like a total disaster. They'd still lost agents in the process, but everyone else would be making it home without too much bodily damage. She would've stayed longer, but Phil threatened to call Clint and have him princess-carry her out of the building if she didn't leave.

Back at the Tower, she stumbled into Steve's apartment and made her way to his recliner with her eyes closed. She stripped off her suit jacket on the way, dropping it to the floor without a care. Once she'd flopped into the oversized furniture, she kicked off her heels with a moan of relief. In the back of her mind, she made a note into shopping for bigger shoes. Her arm reached down to pull the lever on the chair, and within moments, she was asleep.

She awoke in the morning with a flannel blanket thrown over her, her heels placed neatly beside the recliner, and her jacket resting on the back of one the stools at the kitchen counter. The sun was barely up, the sky a mix of pinks and reds. Natasha reached down to sit the chair up. She stood with a groan and stretched stiff muscles. Her back twinged in pain, and she immediately regretted not making herself sleep in an actual bed. She ached all over and decided on a bath, but her growling stomach reminded her it had been hours since she last ate. She inhaled a granola bar, a banana, and a glass of orange juice, and then quietly made her way to the bedroom.

Steve was sprawled on his back, limbs taking advantage of the empty bed and spread in every direction. She stayed still a moment to see whether or not he was actually asleep—he was. Tiptoeing around the bed, she grabbed clean sweatpants, a t-shirt, and underwear from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. She turned the water on as hot as she dared. The gushing sound from the faucet would probably wake up Steve, which she felt a little guilty about, but her muscles couldn't wait any longer.

Natasha climbed into the tub and waited for everything below her neck to be submerged except her bent knees before shutting off the faucet. The heat seeped into her and relaxed her sore and ever-expanding body. Taking a deep breath, she slipped below the surface and enjoyed the feeling of the hot water enveloping her. She came up for air when her lungs started to burn and shook the water from her ears to make sense of the sudden noise around her.

"—bust down this door in three seconds if you don't answer me," Steve said loudly.

"What?"

She heard a relieved exhale. "Are you okay?" he asked with a tone of annoyance in his voice.

"Yeah, why?"

"I've been trying to get you to answer me for the last ninety seconds. I thought you'd hit your head and drowned."

"I'm fine. Just needed a bath. Go back to sleep."

"Pretty awake now. Thanks, though. You sure you okay?"

"I'd be better if you just opened the door so we could stop with the yelling," she answered as her fingers moved to rub at her temples. The faint headache she'd woken up with was slowly building into something fierce.

She heard the door creak open and Steve sit on the floor with a sigh. She peeked around the corner to see him with his back to her and resting on the doorjamb, long legs split before him with one foot in the bedroom and one in the bathroom. She leaned back against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes. "What time did you get home last night?" Natasha asked.

"About twenty minutes after you, but you were already dead to the world."

"Tony take you to a baseball game?"

"Nah," he answered. "Just needed to go for a ride to try and clear my head. Ended up in Philadelphia before turning around and coming back."

"Any better?" she asked quietly.

"No. You?"

She shook her head before remembering that he couldn't see her. "No."

He was quiet for a couple of minutes before speaking again. "Late night last night?"

"Sitwell had a mission go south. Coulson and I tried to help him out of the mess."

"How bad?"

"Lost two agents."

"Anyone we know?"

"I knew one of them. Had a couple missions with him back a few years ago. The other, some woman I hadn't met yet, just joined a three weeks back."

"Sorry," he replied.

Her usual response of _That's the job_ got stuck in her throat. Six months ago, she wouldn't have batted an eye at putting herself in a life-threatening situation. Her right hand went to her stomach in a confession of how that was no longer the case. She didn't want to start hesitating in the field when she went back to active duty; hesitations were what got you killed.

"She's smaller than she should be," Natasha said, the words falling out of her without thought.

"The baby?" he asked, trying to keep up with the change in topic. "Is something wrong?"

"Not that Doctor McClellan saw. She made it sound like it wasn't a big deal."

"Maybe it isn't."

"What if it is?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

He took his time before giving his answer. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

She was unprepared for how much it hurt that he said _you_ instead of _we_.


	14. Chapter 14

**NOTES:** More than the usual amount of thanks goes to** the_wordbutler** for making this chapter what it is.

* * *

The third and final week of Natasha staying with Steve was full of awkwardness: conversations were stilted and forced, physical contact was non-existent, and each found excuses not to be around the other. Steve locked himself away in his studio while Natasha occupied the dining room table to study reports and briefs, and nights were spent with Natasha falling asleep to the sight of his back. The distance between them in the bed went from a space of privacy and respect to a chasm that seemed nearly impossible to cross—and those were the nights where Steve was actually willing to share a bed with her. Otherwise, he would either "accidentally" fall asleep on the couch, or he wouldn't come into the bedroom until he thought she was asleep, and then sneak off to the gym before she awoke.

By the end of the week, the silence wore on her. Like Phil had warned her, she wasn't prepared for how easy it could be to fall into a routine with someone, even after just a week. Never would she have thought such a domestic life would be a comfort; she always assumed it would be dull, tedious, and maddening. But the absence of it—of Steve—was worse. She knew it needed fixed, but didn't know how.

On moving day, Clint helped her carry her clothing and belongings back down to her newly-refurbished quarters. Steve, out of some sense of obligation he probably couldn't ignore, silently carried a fair load, too. Natasha rolled her eyes at the standoffishness Clint was displaying around the other man. She pulled him aside after the second round trip. "Knock it off," she hissed.

"Knock what off?"

"Acting like a jerk to Rogers." Clint pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't say anything. "We're not teenagers; stop being immature."

"He's an idiot for walking away from you."

She shook her head. "He hasn't walked away from me," she said in a low voice hoping her words wouldn't travel far enough for Steve to hear. "If anyone has done any walking, it's me. So if you want get pissy with someone, you direct it my way. I don't need you two getting mad at each other, then someone attacks, and one of you gets hurt because you're being uncommunicative idiots. Knock it off."

"Fine," he sighed.

"Thank you."

"But if you're not around—ow! Enough with the ear slaps, you're going to make me go deaf," he whined as he rubbed his bright red, left ear.

The trio avoided the new addition of the nursery because Pepper had left a note not to go in until she was present to give the full tour. Had it been almost anyone else making the request, Natasha wouldn't have blinked twice at ignoring the plea. But she had a healthy respect for Pepper—both because of their friendship and the skills the other woman possessed—and knew it would just be easier to play along.

Not long after the three of them had all of Natasha's personal effects back in her quarters, everyone else showed up. She heard the voices filter into the bedroom where she was replenishing her closet and stepped out into the living room to see that Clint had let everyone in. Bruce, Tony and Phil were busy discussing the merits of something scientific that was over her head while Pepper seemed to be counseling Thor on what would make a good birthday present for Jane. The noise was almost soothing to Natasha after the strained silence of the last week.

"Alright," Pepper's voice called out over the din. "Let's take this party into the nursery."

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at the group. "I understand why I'm here, but what's the excuse for the rest of you?"

Bruce shrugged. "We were bored and nosy."

Pepper looked at Natasha. "I seriously considered putting a blindfold on you for this, but then I remembered you telling me all the ways you can kill someone with your index finger."

Clint waggled his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised at how open she can be about having fun with blindfolds. Ow! Dammit, Nat, I need my toes, too."

"Maybe you should not be within arm or foot's reach of her," Phil suggested. "Or you could keep your comments to yourself, but we all know that isn't likely." The handler made a sweeping motion at them all. "You heard Miss Potts—to the nursery."

Pepper stepped out in front of the group and linked her arm through Natasha's. The taller woman didn't even try to hide the excitement on her face as she led Natasha down the hall. She paused when they reached the door. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Natasha answered dryly.

Pepper's face fell a bit at the response. "You're no fun."

"You remember who you're dealing with, right?" Natasha asked.

Pepper sighed and extended her palm over a hand sensor. Natasha heard the lock on the door click its release before she reached out, twisted the knob, and let herself in.

Natasha's breath caught as she slowly stepped into the space and looked around. The walls were a pale yellow. All the furniture—crib, changing table, and a rocking chair with a matching footrest—were all white-painted wood with cushions the same shade as the walls. Under her feet was a white, shaggy rug similar to the one Tony and Pepper had in the living room of their penthouse, one that Natasha had eyed a number of times and enjoyed walking on barefoot. Inside the crib rested half a dozen plush toys—one for each member of the Avengers. They were the only sources of bright and dark colors in the room.

Pepper gave her a minute to take in the room's details before explaining some things Natasha might not have noticed or wasn't aware of. "All the bedding is organic cotton. I went ahead and purchased reusable, cloth diapers. If you're wanting to use disposable ones, let me know. I was just trying to keep with the environmentally-friendly theme of the Tower."

"Do I get to talk now?" Tony piped up from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

Pepper smirked back at him. "Yes. Thank you for waiting patiently."

Tony rolled his eyes at her before pushing between Bruce and Phil to stand in the middle of the room with Natasha. "You helped with the design?" Natasha asked.

"Uh, who do you think designed this whole tower?" Tony asked, stretching his arms out. "Of course I helped with this. I'm too much of a control freak to let someone else do work in my home." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together while spinning to look at Clint. "First off—" He paused and pointed up to the ceiling.

Clint didn't bother to look up. "Already saw it," he commented, referencing to the air duct that blended in rather well with the ceiling. "Where does it connect?"

"JARVIS? Pull up the grid." At Tony's command, a holographic layout displayed the air duct running to connect both to Phil and Clint's floor and to a larger junction running through the center of the building.

Natasha gave her best stern look to the archer. "You are not to carry my child around dirty air ducts unless there is an actual emergency. That area is off limits otherwise."

"Fun ruiner," Clint quipped back.

"In other news," Tony announced, bringing the attention back to him. "The palm sensor on the door? It's set right now to let only the people in this room into here. You," he said, pointing a finger at Natasha, "and only you can modify that list. Unlike the rest of the quarters in the Tower, only this room has constant surveillance when a lifesign is detected. Again, only you have access to the recordings."

She crossed her arms in the shrinking space between her stomach and her chest. "Not even you?"

He shrugged. "I told JARVIS to lock me out."

Natasha's memory flashed back to Clint's eyes taking on a hue of electric blue. "JARVIS, can Tony outwit you and gain access to that system if he wanted to?"

"Since Sir was the one who created me, it is possible he can out-think me, but there are security measures in place to draw such a challenge out for as long as possible."

Natasha turned the bit of information over in her head, feeling her stomach tighten the possible worst-case scenarios. Phil caught her eye, and she saw his chin rise microscopically, a signal that he'd be willing to face whatever horrible situation her brain was spinning. The action brought back memories of countless missions where his voice in her ear had gotten her out of more than a fair amount of trouble. She took a deep breath to calm herself down and then turned back to Tony. "What else?"

Tony gestured towards the crib. "JARVIS will also be scanning the baby's vitals at all times. If something starts to go wrong, he'll notify you and get a medical team up here immediately." Before Natasha's brain could dwell on that for too long, Tony moved over to stand in front of the wall of windows opposite the entrance to the room. "Another worst case scenario: one of us needing to get in through the window in order to get to the kid. This pane—" He paused to wrap a knuckle against the middle window. "—I can eject with a command from the suit. It will also pop out of place if someone, say Goldilocks, projects a large electrical charge at a sensor in the joint on the outside of the window here."

Thor stepped forward to examine what would be his target. He also stood in front of the window and took a deep breath, expanding his body to its full height and width. His form looked barely contained beneath the pair of jeans and black t-shirt he was wearing. Nevertheless, he nodded his approval about being able to fit in the space that would be opened for him.

Tony turned to look at Bruce. "Not wide enough for you; sorry, Big Guy."

The scientist shrugged. "If it's up to him to save the day, then we're all screwed."

His words caused Natasha's mind to reel back to the night terror she had days ago. She tried to send the images away by replaying Steve's words of reassurance. Thinking of him and that night caused her eyes to look his way. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders tight and high, and his focus was stuck on the carpet.

Phil's hand took a firm but gentle hold on her upper right arm, causing her focus to change to him. "Have a seat," he said with a nod towards the rocking-chair-glider-thing set up in the corner.

"I'm fine," she answered.

His face settled into hard lines she'd seen too often. "I wasn't asking." His eyes flicked down to her stomach, which at some point she'd unconsciously covered with both hands. "Have a seat." He hovered next to her as she moved toward the chair and remained there as she sank into the soft cushions. "How about we talk about things that don't have to deal with kidnapped children?"

Tony nodded, "Yeah, sure. Umm—holographic mobile." On the cue, JARVIS projected five glowing images in the air that swirled around each other over the crib—a mini arc reactor, Steve's shield, Mjolnir, an arrow nocked in a bow, and her own hourglass-widow symbol. Tony turned again to Bruce. "I figured you wouldn't approve of a giant, green fist being in the mix."

"Correct."

The engineer turned his attention back to Natasha. "You can also change the images to whatever you want, or to specific colors if you want to follow that whole red-black-white color scheme for newborn brain development. Or, you know, get a boring actual mobile. Whatever. Video monitors, too. Just ask JARVIS to pull up a shot, he'll display it for you, with or without audio."

"So," Pepper cut in, "that's your nursery. Can you think of anything we missed?"

"No, sounds like you thought of everything." Natasha answered softly before making eye contact with both Tony and Pepper. "Thank you for all of this."

Pepper's eyes twinkled. "I'll give you a few weeks to get settled, but then—" She walked over and pulled open a door to reveal an empty closet. "—we're going clothes shopping."

"Good luck with that," Tony commented.

Thor's eyes swept the room. "It is missing one thing."

Tony gave him a cross look. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Thor pointed at the entrance to the room. "There is no protection rune. On Asgard, the doorframe of each child's room has a protection rune inscribed or painted over it."

"Do you know how to do that?" Natasha asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious. You believe in magic tricks like that?"

She pointed at her pregnant stomach. "I do now."

"Aye," Thor answered. "I can prepare such a thing. I am not as skilled in the artisanship of it as others."

"I'm not looking for pretty; I just want it to work," Natasha countered.

Thor nodded and turned to Steve. "I will require some of the tools of your craft."

"My… what?"

"Your paint and brushes."

"Oh," Steve answered, his words sounding flat and tight. "Sure. C'mon upstairs and I'll get you something."

Natasha felt words rush up in her throat as she watched Steve retreat from the room. She needed to say something—anything—to him to express her gratitude for the sacrifices he'd made the last few weeks. But the words didn't or wouldn't come, not in front of everyone else.

Now that the show was over, everyone but Clint filed out after Steve and Thor. The man ran his fingers along the railing of the crib before making a slow circle around the room and taking in details.

"Am I crazy?" Natasha asked.

"For what?"

"For doing that," she answered and pointed at the door.

His face went dark and his lips pursed a moment, but it quickly faded away. He put on a snarky smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Are you kidding? I'm half-tempted to have him paint one in my bedroom once he's done."

"You are basically a child."

"See? It would totally work." He checked his watch and grimaced. "I've got a meeting. You need anything else?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Always." He shook his head at her before sweeping in to place a quick kiss on her cheek. She gave him a hint of a smile as he pulled away. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything you do for me."

Clint looked at her like she'd grown three heads. "I'm going to get out of here before your crazy hormones complete the process of turning you into a nice lady, because I don't know how to deal with you if you're like that." She waved him off with her middle finger, and he laughed. "Much better."

Natasha took the moment's peace by herself to soak in the room. "So," she said aloud rubbing small circles on her stomach. "This is your nursery. I hope you like it in here. And, for the record, I still feel like an idiot talking out loud basically to myself."

Thor returned a moment later with a paintbrush, a small palette (or perhaps it only looked small in his broad hand), and a brush. He squirted a small amount of a deep golden acrylic paint from a tube onto the palette and then carefully began writing characters above the doorframe. Natasha watched as he slowly left markings on the wall. She was used to seeing him concentrate deeply in battle, but replacing Mjolnir with a thin paintbrush almost made the whole thing comical. She watched what she assumed were letters take form; she didn't know what they said, but recognized them as being in the same form as the markings on both Mjolnir and Thor's armor. So as not to break his concentration, she waited until he was finished before asking him a question. "Can you see what's happening here when you're on Asgard?"

"Nay, I rely on the sight of the great Heimdall to keep me apprised of the actions of Midgardians when I am not here," he answered.

"Is he the only one who has that ability?"

He switched his focus from admiring his handiwork to turn a solemn face towards her. "Loki has no way of seeing what happens here. Not without magic, and there is none where he is currently being kept."

She huffed bitterly. "I've heard about him being locked away without magic before."

"Father has made sure his new prison lives up to its word," Thor replied, his eyes unfocused on his surroundings.

"Will you ever see him again?"

The question brought Thor's attention to Natasha's face. "I know not."

She tilted her head and studied him a moment before asking her next question. "Can you lie to people?"

His gait elongated and rose at the challenge. "I have done that before, yes. I have made promises to men in battle that were untrue. Part of my lessons as a child included how a king must measure his words and tell falsehoods when his people need to hear them. I was not as good as others, but I do possess that ability."

She eyed him carefully. "When—if—you do see Loki again, don't tell him about her. Lie to him. Tell him I lost the baby. Tell him I'm devastated. Tell him he won. But don't tell him the truth."

Thor ambled up to the rocking chair and took a knee before her. "You have my word, Lady Natasha, that I will do everything in my power to protect your daughter."

* * *

Three days after Natasha moved back into her quarters, the team gathered on the common floor. It was a tradition they'd found themselves falling into most weeks. Sundays meant brunch with everyone followed by the laziness of watching some sporting event or just sitting around and talking to each other for a few hours.

Natasha sat on a bar stool at the kitchen counter with Bruce next to her. They kept Clint and Phil company while the pair cleaned up the leftover breakfast spread. Tony and Pepper were sequestered in the corner, both on their phones and dealing with business matters despite the fact that it was a weekend. Thor and Steve were sitting at the dining table debating on how much truth existed in ancient lore.

Natasha had her back to the pair of muscular blond men. She tried to use the logic of "out of sight, out of mind" when it came to Steve, but her ears kept trying to eavesdrop on his conversation. It was the kind of intellectual arguments the two of them had participated in a number of times over the months since the team first came together. He was a good person to have a conversation with, and she found herself missing their discussions on politics and history.

Bruce looked at her. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Is it bad that I could already eat again?"

He laughed. "No, that's pretty normal."

"You want something else?" Phil asked.

"If Thor left any pineapple, I'll take that." Her handler nodded and grabbed a container from the refrigerator. He slid it down the counter to her, and she greedily began consuming chunks of the sweet fruit. A moment later, she felt an increasingly familiar stirring in her belly, causing her to set up a little straighter.

Bruce caught her shift in posture. "Is she moving?"

Natasha nodded in response and watched his face soften into a smile. She reached over, grabbed his hand, and put it against her stomach. He resisted slightly, and once his hand made contact with her body, he made sure he was barely brushing up against her.

She shook her head. "Have to press a little harder than that." She felt him start to pull away, but she just pressed his hand harder against her abdomen. "You're not going to hurt me, and you're not going to hurt her. It's okay. I'm not promising anything. I've only felt her move from the outside once or twice in the last couple of days."

Clint whined from his station at the sink, "Not fair."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You've had your fair share of groping me. Let someone else have a turn."

That didn't keep Clint's bottom lip from sticking out slightly. "If he feels her kick before me, I'm going to be pissed." As if on cue, Natasha felt a flurry of movements, and Bruce's face lit up. "Aw, baby, c'mon. I'm your favorite uncle; what are you thinking?"

Bruce chuckled and withdrew his hand from Natasha. "Thank you for that," he said in a quiet voice, a smile still stuck on his face.

The squeak of a dining room chair being quickly pushed across the tile floor interrupted the moment. Natasha's head snapped to the right just in time to see Steve shoot up from his seat and leave the room with his jaw set in a hard line.

Tony pulled his phone away from his face and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Okay, who pissed in Rogers's cereal? He's been like that for days now. He almost took my head off during hand-to-hand practice yesterday."

"Wouldn't that be most people's reaction if they had the chance to fight with you?" Clint asked.

Tony responded by flipping him off and quickly dismissing whoever was on the phone. He then stalked over to Natasha, his mouth set in a thin line. It was an expression she'd seen a number of times when he was trying to figure out a problem. "This is you, isn't it?" Tony asked her. "Did you break him? Either literally or figuratively?"

She turned her attention to her fingernails instead of answering, a sure sign of guilt. Thor, Tony, Bruce and Pepper, who had also quickly dismissed whoever she was on the phone with, came over to form a ring around her. Clint kept his focus on the dishes since he already knew the most of the details. And if Clint knew, then Phil probably did as well, which explained why he kept his eyes on the pots and plates Clint handed him to dry.

"Where do I need to start?" Natasha asked.

"The beginning," Tony answered.

"Which beginning?"

Bruce cut in, his eyes like Tony's, searching the air for some answer. "Start with moving in with him."

"It wasn't originally going to be _with_ him. I was just going to stay in his place while he was gone for a week for press tour stuff and my floor was being redone."

Tony gave her a look that reeked of skepticism. "Why him? Why not with Bert and Ernie?" he asked while pointing at Phil and Clint.

Natasha shrugged. She knew the answer: it was because she knew how long Phil had waited for this to be his life, and knew how close they'd come to losing such a chance. She didn't want to intrude. Both men had taken more than enough time out of their lives to take care of her, and she didn't want to steal any more from them, even though she knew they wouldn't think twice about doing such a thing.

"Why did you stay even when he came back?" Bruce asked.

"Because he asked me to," she replied. Bruce gave her a look that told her that he didn't buy that to be the full answer. "I— It's easy to be around him. At least it was."

"What has changed?" Thor asked.

She pursed her lips, debating how much to share. "We want different things."

"No, you don't," Phil muttered at the same time Tony quipped, "We're going to need more than that."

Natasha picked Phil to focus on. "What are you talking about?"

Phil set down the plate he was drying to give her his full attention. "You both want your daughter taken care of and fully supported—you want the same thing."

"He wants it to look differently than I do," she countered.

"How does he want it to look?" Pepper asked.

"He said he was willing to be a father-figure or whatever, which at first was okay, but then he brought up marriage." Tony gave a full-body shutter at the word as Natasha turned her attention back to Phil. "So, no, we don't want the same thing."

Phil gave her a look that made her blood pressure spike. She knew that expression; it was the one where he knew something was going to turn out a certain way, and no amount of arguing could change that future.

Thor's brow furrowed in thought. "The good Captain seems like an honorable choice to bind yourself to."

Natasha shook her head. "He may be, but I'm pretty sure I'm not."

"That doesn't really explain why he's that mad," Bruce countered.

Natasha gave a small grimace. "Me kissing him probably doesn't help matters."

It was Pepper's voice that rang out the loudest. "You did _what_?"

Clint picked up the dish he'd dropped into the sink. "When were you going to mention that?"

"Forget you," Pepper spat. "When were you going to tell me?"

Natasha shook her head. "You guys don't get to know everything."

"Only kissing?" Tony asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.

She glared at him in response. "With as much as you all gossip, do you really think I'm going to answer that question?"

Pepper tilted her head in judgment. "No sex, then."

Natasha sighed and angled herself off of her stool. "I need to go talk to him."

Bruce's words stopped her. "Let him be for a little bit." She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "Just give him a bit to cool off."

* * *

"Cap's down."

The two words from Clint's mouth played over and over again like a skipping record. It was all Natasha heard as the team distracted the oncoming attack from some species of robotic soldiers who'd portaled their way into lower Manhattan long enough for the medical team to reach him. It was all she heard as she ran from her quarters where she'd been monitoring the early Monday morning attack. And it was all she heard on the drive to SHIELD medical.

She'd seen the video feed from Tony's helmet, too. Steve got knocked down from time to time, but he never stayed down. He'd shake his head and fight off unconsciousness after a rough hit, but he never slipped into it.

Whatever kind of ammunition the alien drones had fired into his right shoulder had knocked him down and out of the fight. And whoever they were, they'd portaled back away minutes after Steve fell.

By the time Natasha reached medical twenty minutes after leaving the Tower, Phil was standing outside a private room. She saw over his shoulder and through the window in the door that the rest of the team was standing around Steve's bed.

"He's going to be okay," Phil reassured her as she approached, her heeled boots clicking a quick pace on the tiled floor. "He's awake now, and his body's already pushed the projectile out through the entrance wound."

"What happened?" Her mind wouldn't stop racing. It wanted to know who their new attackers were, what other technology they possessed that could mightily threaten a super soldier, and it wanted to know if Steve was truly okay. Because other than repeating Clint's words, her mind thought constantly about how she should've ignored Bruce's words yesterday afternoon and tracked Steve down for a talk.

Phil stepped forward and laid a reassuring hand on her right elbow. "We don't know for sure. We don't know who these people are or what they want. Richards and his team were called in to see if they could analyze the portals these guys used in order to trace them back to an origin point." He paused to lean in more towards. Phil lowered his voice in attempt to keep their conversation as private as possible. "What we do know is that when the bullet entered Captain Rogers's shoulder, it released an electrical pulse that knocked him unconscious. We think there may be more to it, but since he was the only one who took a round, we don't know. And test results on the bullet fragment haven't come back yet."

She nodded, internalizing the information. "Why are you out here?"

"Waiting for you," he answered with a small shrug. "Things may not have been going well between the two of you the last week and a half, but I knew you wouldn't stay away."

She didn't argue his assessment and knew she couldn't lie convincingly, at least not to him. Instead, she shouldered past him to walk into Steve's room just in time to hear the other men try and convince Steve to stay in the bed. Natasha pushed up on her toes to peek over Bruce and Tony's shoulders to see Steve; she felt a slight bit of relief seeing him with her own eyes. Dried blood left a dark patch on the front right side of his uniform. The stain trailed down from the hole the bullet left in his shoulder.

Thor was currently pinning him down with a single hand while Bruce rattled off all the medical reasons why he needed to stay put. Steve ignored them both.

"Out," Natasha ordered the men. When they ignored her, she repeated it at a louder volume.

"Yeah," Tony said, his armor whirring with every motion he made. "I'm not dealing with this." With that, he stalked out of the room. Bruce and Thor each gave Steve one last look before following suit.

In her peripheral vision, Natasha caught Clint crossing his arms and staring her down. "Do I need to stay and make sure you don't kill him?" he asked.

"Only if you want me to treat you like a traitor."

"Nope," he answered before throwing a look of pity Steve's way. "Good luck." He then followed the other men's path out the door.

Natasha shifted uneasily on her feet, not knowing what to say now that they were alone. Steve kept his eyes locked on the ceiling and away from her. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"Fine," he ground out.

"Liar," she muttered. It was the wrong response to throw out into the conversation, obviously, since it made his jaw tighten even more. She took a deep breath in an effort to try and calm herself. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he answered, his voice flat.

"You want to tell me why you were so reckless during the fight?"

He huffed but didn't respond, and it made something in Natasha snap, bringing her temper to full bore. She walked to his right side and pressed her middle and index fingers onto the edge of the entry wound. Hard.

He hissed in pain and rolled his shoulder out from under her touch. "What the hell?" he demanded.

She took some small satisfaction that the contact finally made him look at her. "That's for throwing your shield instead of using it to deflect bullets." He rolled his eyes at her. "I saw the video feed from Tony's helmet. You could've prevented this, but instead you decided to take out the guy to your right when he wasn't a threat."

"They were all threats."

"He wasn't an imminent threat, and you know it." He ground his jaw and kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, but didn't respond. "What's wrong with you?" she asked quietly. "What's happened that you won't even look at me now?"

He rolled his lips before muttering his reply. "All the colors in the world, and you pick that one."

"What?"

"The walls in the nursery. Was that some kind of joke? You can't think of something on your own, so you steal that from me?"

"It wasn't a joke. It sounded nice," she said, keeping her voice low. She felt confessions begin to form on her tongue, and even though she knew she needed to say them, she still fought to keep them as restrained as possible. "That whole story you told me sounded nice."

"Except the part where I'm there, right? Rather have someone else?" She knew the pain in his eyes wasn't from the wound to his shoulder.

"Steve—"

"Maybe you were right. Maybe this thing would never work with us. Just forget I ever said anything."

She went numb at his words. Because she'd fully intended to walk into the room, and after giving him grief about his poor tactics in the fight, make amends. The anxiety she'd felt when she'd heard Clint proclaim Steve was down shook her to the core. It wasn't a fear of not winning a fight, or the dread she was accustomed to whenever Clint was seriously injured. This wasn't a fear of losing the past; it was the terror of losing the future.

But she seemed to have done that anyway.

"Steve—"

"No. I feel foolish enough having to be in here. I don't need you adding to it. Just go."

She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it just as quickly. She stopped at the door to give him one last look, but he'd rolled his back to her and hid his face. When she walked into the hall, the men pounced on her with questions, but she ignored them all and kept walking if for no other reason than to attempt to hide the tears that burned her eyes. Natasha meandered through the labyrinth of corridors comprising SHIELD medical to get her hormonally-charged emotions back under control. She then stopped to sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair when she found a quiet section of the hall.

She'd known someone was following her, but she wasn't expecting it to be Bruce. He sat next to her and handed her a bottle of water before taking a swig from his own. His words came slowly, but lacked any preamble. "You know what it's like to be made—to be turned into something you have no control over—but you have no clue what it is to be remade." He kept his focus on the wall across from them as he spoke, his eyes lost in a distant memory. "To have a life beforehand, one that you crafted and worked to make your own only to have it swept away in a second. You don't know what it's like to be forced to walk away—_run_ away—from the people you love knowing that you'll never see them again. And you don't know how much energy and fear is involved at trying to build something for yourself again."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," she argued.

Bruce sighed and looked down at the water bottle in his hands. He rolled it back and forth between his palms before speaking again. "Do you remember what life was like before Barton and Coulson? That emptiness?" She nodded. "Imagine that they'd always been there, and now imagine that you lost them out of the blue. One day they're there, the next they're gone. How willing would you be to try and open yourself up to something like that again?"

Having such a scenario threaten her reality more times than she cared to remember, she knew her answer. "I wouldn't," she admitted. And it was true. The past summer was hell; she'd focused all her attention on getting Clint through his grief when Phil played dead. If she lost both of them, then she'd have to focus on herself and her own emotions, and that thought terrified her.

"He's trying, Natasha," Bruce said, his calm voice bringing her out of her thoughts and replacing her focus on Steve. "But it's hard to do when you've been so very alone. And he has been." He stopped to shake his head. His glasses slid down on his nose at the motion, so he slipped them off and placed them in the pocket of his dress shirt. "You guys don't see it, but trust me. That's the majority of what he's felt since we came together as a team. He's just better at hiding than others—like, say, me."

She took another drink of the water he'd given her to buy time to weigh his words. "What do I do?"

He looked at her and showed Natasha a hint of a smile. "Wait. I'm sure that's not the answer you want to hear, but you have to wait. Doing something like this is hard for someone like him." He shrugged an apology for not having a better answer. "Let him calm down, and then he'll start seeing straight."

"And if he doesn't?"

The hint of a smile blossomed into something more. "Then he's an idiot. And you deserve better than that."


	15. Chapter 15

**NOTES: **Thanks as always to the word_butler for cleaning up my awkward and rambling words.

* * *

Five days after the attack where mystery drones portaled into New York and—among other things—shot Steve, the gang had a birthday to go out and celebrate. When Natasha climbed out of the cab after Bruce, and they paused outside the dive bar to look up at the neon lighting. She groaned. "I'm going to get heartburn just walking in here."

Bruce chuckled. "True, but no point in keeping the birthday boy waiting any more than he already has." He pulled the door open and waved Natasha through.

Gathered at a table in a back, dark corner were members of the team, as well as Pepper, Sitwell, and Hill. Everyone was in casual dress, save for the sparkling plastic tiara atop Clint's head that read "Happy Birthday". The archer let out a gleeful "You made it!" to Bruce and Natasha that made her wonder how much alcohol the man had already consumed. "What took you so long?" Clint asked.

"Some of us had to work this evening. You should try it sometime," she answered.

Bruce smiled as he took a seat between Pepper and Sitwell. "We had to finish writing the report on that substance Agents Braxton and Smith brought back."

"And by 'we,' he means himself. Five hours later and the only things I can tell you is it's yellow and goo-like. Anybody need anything before I sit down? Because once I hit a chair, I'm not getting back up."

Sitwell waved her down towards a seat. "My wife would hand me my ass if I made a pregnant woman get me a drink. Sit. What do you want?"

"Water's fine," she answered as she lowered herself into a chair between Maria and Thor.

The woman next to her openly stared at her stomach. "That still looks so weird."

"You should have it attached to you sometime."

"God, no. That sounds awful," Maria responded with a frown. "Does it move around and stuff?"

Thor leaned his large frame around Natasha and gave the Assistant Director a stern look. "You will refer to the babe as 'she,' not 'it.'"

Natasha reached over to pat him on the thigh. "The boys are little overprotective. And, yes, to answer your question."

"So weird."

Natasha nodded as she accepted her water from Sitwell. She looked over at Clint and grinned at the sight of the tiara crookedly balanced on his head. "Was that you?" she asked Maria.

The other woman smirked as she nodded. "I told him I'd ground him if he didn't wear it."

"What did he do to deserve that?"

"Nothing in particular. I was just bored."

Natasha saluted her with her glass before taking a sip. She looked around the table. Phil and Clint were sharing a quiet chat, their heads leaned in toward each other and smiles on their faces. Sandwiched between Clint and Maria, a heated conversation about the best toppings for a hamburger had started between Pepper, Sitwell, and Bruce. On the other side of Natasha, Thor was half-heartedly mediating another round of bickering between Tony and Steve. Tonight's debate topic seemed to be Tony once again trying to talk Steve into letting him perform some upgrades to his motorcycle.

A moment later, a trio of waitresses set down large platters containing chicken wings drowned in a vibrant sauce that looked like it could remove the paint from Tony's armor, as well as baskets of various fried foods and matching dipping sauces. "That looks disgusting," Natasha muttered.

"You mispronounced 'delicious,'" Clint countered from across the table. "Everybody dig in."

Phil eyed the spread like it was a ticking bomb. "If I get you drunk enough, will you notice if I sleep on the couch tonight? Because I'm not sure I want to share a bed with you after you've been consuming this stuff."

"No," Clint argued, pointing a finger at the other man. "You promised me dirty birthday sex. I'll stop drinking right now if that's going to put my present in jeopardy." The comment caused Phil to roll his eyes.

Tony clamped his hands over his ears. "No one wants to hear this conversation."

"And speaking of presents," Clint whirled his finger from Phil to Natasha.

"I'm not having dirty birthday sex with you."

Clint shrugged, "Not anymore. But did you at least get me something?"

"If I'd known what Maria was going to make you wear, I would've gotten you a matching feather boa."

He grinned. "I'd wear the shit out of that."

Phil shot Clint a look. "I'd have to hide it for whenever an assemble call came in, wouldn't I?"

Clint waved him off before turning back to Natasha. "But seriously, where's my present?"

"Barcelona," she answered.

"Aw, c'mon. You can't use a mission as a birthday present."

"Without me there, you wouldn't've had any more birthdays," she argued. "And at the rate you go, I'll have enough examples to use until you hit your sixties."

He sighed but tipped his bottle up to her before taking a long pull of beer. The next couple hours went by quickly, filled with laughter and disgusting food. She was grateful the night went easily, especially after the tension that came with Steve being shot five days ago.

In that time, Natasha had followed Bruce's advice of leaving things alone and giving Steve space. It seemed to be working somewhat, since he could at least tolerate being in the same room as her and even made eye contact with her a couple of times during dinner.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, exhaustion slammed into Natasha with the force of a freight train. Her eyelids began to droop, and she shook her head in an effort to wake herself up. Clint caught the motion gave her a small pout. "Already?" he asked across the table.

"I'm growing a human; cut me some slack." She rose and rounded the table. Leaning over, she placed a kiss on his cheek. "Happy birthday, idiot."

"Thanks, Tasha. You okay getting back?"

"I'll catch a cab with you," Sitwell cut in. "I need to get home anyway. I'll have the cabbie drop you off at the Tower on the way."

"Mind if I join?" Steve asked hesitantly. Even though he was looking at Natasha when he spoke, it was Sitwell who answered that it would be fine. Steve kept his eyes on Natasha, and she gave him a small nod.

The trio stepped out into the humid May air. Sitwell went to the curb and began whistling and waving his arms at passing cabs. He began to mutter to himself about how cabbies weren't even willing to stop for superheroes when no one immediately pulled up. Natasha contemplated moving out into the street and making use of her stomach to help him out, but Steve rocking slightly back and forth on his feet kept her in place.

She waited for him to speak whatever was on his mind, but he kept his eyes on the passing cars. She cleared her throat before starting in on some kind of conversation. "How's the shoulder?"

Steve rolled it around before answering. "All healed up, thanks."

She opened her mouth to say something else, when a taxi pulled up to the curb and Sitwell muttered, "Finally."

The senior agent climbed in first. Steve moved to stand next to the open car door and waved for Natasha to climb in next. Once she was settled, Steve slid into the seat next to her. He looked over at her. "You have enough room?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered while wiggling into a comfortable position between the two men.

"Where to?" the disinterested cabbie asked.

"Stark Tower," Natasha responded.

The name of the location caused the driver's eyes to catch hers in the rearview mirror. They caught on her red hair and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Hey… are you…" His gaze dropped to her pregnant stomach and he shook his head. "Never mind. Stark Tower it is," he announced as he pulled away from the curb.

"And then Queens after that," Sitwell informed him. The driver shot the agent a quick and dirty look at the thought of having to leave Manhattan, but he kept his mouth shut.

The ride back home was quiet. Natasha felt herself being lulled to sleep by the ambient noise of the city around her. Thankfully, they reached the Tower just as she started feeling her eyes slip shut and her head tilt towards Steve's left shoulder. When they stopped, Steve reached in his back pocket for his wallet, but Sitwell waved him off. "I've got this. You guys have a good night."

Natasha nodded her thanks to him and waited for Steve to climb out of the car. Once he'd stepped out of the taxi, he turned, and with a slight hesitation, offered his right hand to her to help her out of the vehicle. She accepted his aid, but once she was out on the sidewalk, both of their hands dropped back to their respective sides. They entered the building and climbed into the one elevator with access to the team's personal quarters. Natasha moved to the back and let her head fall backwards until it was resting against the wall. Steve followed her into the elevator and punched the buttons for both of their floors while holding his eye up to the retina scanner. She felt the car lift and speed upwards toward its destinations, only opening her eyes when she felt it slow down to let her off. She was halfway through the doors when his voice caught her attention.

"You have any plans for tomorrow?"

"Um, I'm working out with Pepper in the morning. Why?"

He shrugged. "Dinner, maybe, if you wanted. My place at six?"

She tried not to give in to the spark of hope the ignited in her chest at the invitation. Making sure she kept her face schooled in a neutral expression, she gave a quick nod before turning and entering her quarters.

* * *

Natasha flopped down into a plastic chair the next morning while taking a pull from whatever smoothie concoction Pepper had ordered from the juice bar inside the gym after their spinning class. In between adjusting tension and peddling up fictional hills, Pepper recapped what happened after Natasha left Clint's birthday party. Sounded like she hadn't missed anything other than the typical boy antics she'd been accustomed to since they all started living with each other a year ago. Natasha noticed the other woman was censoring herself when repeating back conversations and the spy put two and two together: the guys (unsurprisingly) had started gossiping about her and Steve after the pair left.

Natasha waited until after they were both halfway done with their protein-enhanced beverages before informing Pepper of her dinner plans. "What do you think he wants to talk about?" the other woman asked.

Natasha shrugged. "Not sure."

"Think he's trying to make amends? Beg you to come back?"

"I'm fairly certain begging will not be part of tonight," she responded with an eye roll.

"I could think of some things I'd beg him for," Pepper muttered around her straw.

Natasha smirked. "You know how much you sound like Tony right now, don't you?"

Pepper cringed. "I know. I'd like to think I've rubbed off on him too over the years, but I just can't think of any examples off the top of my head." She paused to take another drink of her smoothie, her face showing an effort at trying to remember one time Pepper had influenced Tony into acting like it her. She gave up a moment later with a shrug. "Well, let me know how it goes. And if you need me to kick his ass a little, I can do that. I'm a professional at handling men who are acting like idiots."

"Why does everyone think he's the one who did something wrong? You all know me, right? And you know his reputation?"

Pepper nodded, "Sure, but he's walking away from you. _You_, Natasha. You're the perfect package—sexy, intelligent, and can kick the teeth out of anyone she wants."

"Perfect? No." She looked down at her sweat-soaked body that felt beyond bloated. "Also not too sure about the sexy right now."

Pepper waved her off. "You can still see your toes; you're fine. And even when you can't see your toes, you'll still be hotter than the majority of the women in the world. Which is a little disgusting, by the way."

"You have seen yourself, right?" Natasha countered. "You really don't have room to talk about 'disgusting'." She paused to take a drink and sweep an eye on the people at the fitness club around her. "I just wish I had better intel before going in."

"This is your life, not a mission."

"Pretty sure missions are easier."

Pepper shrugged. "You'll find out in eight hours. And then you will call me and give me all the details."

"You're still mad I didn't tell you about us kissing, aren't you?"

"You're the only girl friend I have to talk about these kinds of things with. Why can't you just give me this one thing?"

* * *

By the time she'd returned from the gym, Natasha felt exhausted again. She hadn't slept well the night before. Her dreams contained something dark around the edges—something she couldn't quite remember when she woke up early, unable to fall back asleep. Uncaring about her sweaty clothes, she collapsed on her couch for a nap. JARVIS's voice woke her up six hours later to let her know that it was already five in the evening. She swore under her breath before thanking the AI and making her way to the shower.

It was six on the dot when she stepped off the elevator onto Steve's floor. After she knocked, he quickly answered the door and let her in with a sweeping hand gesture. The aroma of a variety of foods overwhelmed her nose, and she saw his kitchen counter had become a buffet.

Steve stepped up behind her and began to speak with a hint of an apologetic smile. "I'm hosting an 'I'm-sorry-I-ran-away-and-don't-know-how-to-deal-with-my-emotions' dinner. Congratulations and apologies on earning your invitation."

She couldn't help but grin at having her own words thrown back at her. "I guess this makes us even."

Steve winced. "Probably not for long. I can be a pretty big idiot, which I'm sure you've noticed lately." He paused, his gaze switching back and forth between the food and his couch. "Do you mind if we talk first?" Her stomach growled an answer, and he shook his head. "Sorry, it's probably cruel to taunt a pregnant woman with food."

She waved him off. "I'll keep for five minutes, but after that I'm grabbing whatever takeout carton is closest to me."

"Deal," he said with a soft smile. He led her over the couch, and when he sat, he ran his palms over his khaki-covered thighs before speaking again. "I didn't mean to push you away or shut you out. It was a defense technique. I've lost a lot of people in my life—almost everyone—and I'd already grown close to you. I thought it would be easier to push you away before you left me too. I was wrong." He paused to study his hands, now clasped in front of him as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his legs. "And then I let my temper get the best of me. You have the right to pick any color you want for the nursery. And I had no business storming out the other night. The baby's yours, and you can let anyone you want feel her move. I was just jealous." The last sentence trailed off into an almost whisper.

She raised an eyebrow at him to silently ask if he was done talking, but his eyes were still cast towards the floor. She tried to swallow down the nerves in her stomach while letting the words that had been stuck inside for the last two weeks rise to the surface.

"I had them paint the walls yellow because you said that's what you wanted to have when you brought a baby home."

Her words caused him to look up at her. His face was neutral, but she caught how tightly his fingers were gripped together and how his breath quickened. They were both quiet for a moment before he spoke up. "You're going to have to say the words, Natasha," he replied quietly. "I'm not going to let myself believe it if you don't."

She rolled her lips in a slight hesitation before giving in to the confession that'd been sitting at the back of her throat for days. "She's going to need parents—more than one—because there's no way I wouldn't screw her up on my own." She reached out in an attempt to cover his broad hands with one of hers. In the back of her mind, she congratulated herself on not letting her nerves show, and for keeping her fingers still and unshaking.

"She's going to need you," Natasha told him. She took a quick breath before saying the words that would leave her as vulnerable as possible. "And I need you, too."

A silent huff of laughter burst out of him. He tried to restrain the smile that came across his face but couldn't help himself. He took a breath in to speak, but she used her free fingers to cover his lips. "Before you agree to anything, know what you're getting into. I'm stubborn as hell, I can only feign compassion about three times a year, and I'm honestly more comfortable taking a life than nurturing one. You sure you want to attach yourself to that?"

He didn't hesitate to nod his head underneath her fingers, and then let her finish speaking. "That doesn't mean I'm ready to jump into a wedding. And I might not be for a while—years even. But I'm not discounting the possibility."

He tilted his head around her hand. "Do I get to talk now?"

She nodded.

"I'm just as stubborn as you can be; I really don't know how you haven't noticed that, especially after the last couple of weeks. And I'd rather wait for years before you agree to marriage then having a wedding now and feel like I forced you into some sham of a relationship." He reached out and cupped the side of her face with his left hand. "I'd be honored to fill whatever role you'd let me have in your life—and hers."

She felt something inside of her break open as relief flood through her body. Relief that they were talking again, relief that he'd agreed, and relief that she wouldn't have to face this mess on her own. She turned her head towards his arm and placed a kiss on small part of his wrist that was exposed under the sleeve of his collared shirt.

In an instant, his hand moved from her face to the back of her neck and drew her to him. They kissed with the heat they'd shared in Steve's bed, and only separated when Natasha's stomach growled loudly.

Steve pulled away from her with a chuckle. "Does that mean my five minutes is up?"

Natasha looked at him with regret. "I wouldn't be saying this if I hadn't slept through both of my lunches this afternoon, but I need food more than this right now."

"She's getting ready to go through a growth spurt, you definitely need to eat," he said before realizing what he'd just admitted to. The tips of his ears blushed a soft pink.

"You've been doing research?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

He cringed at being caught before nodding. "Ever since I found out you were expecting." He shrugged before continuing. "I like to know what's going on with everyone."

"Well, you can tell me all about it over dinner because my doctor will be the first one to tell you that I'm kind of awful about knowing anything besides the basics."

Confusion worked its way across his face. "Really?"

Despite the heat she'd felt a minute ago, ice formed in her stomach. She felt words stick in her throat but gave in to the trust she'd just put in Steve. "I don't want to learn too much in case something happens and I lose her. I don't want to know what should've been happening this week or next but isn't because she's gone." He didn't need to say any words of reassurance; she saw it immediately in the slight raising of the jaw and the steeliness that settled into his eyes. Natasha didn't give him the chance to vocalize whatever oaths of protection he was bound to swear. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him again, pouring what gratitude she could muster into the action.

He returned it for a moment before pulling away from her with a groan of reluctance. "Food," he ordered.

"This is nicer."

"Your daughter might not think so."

"Fine," she sighed. She increased the pressure of her hands on either side of his face to make sure he kept eye contact with her. "But trust me: once we eat, we're coming back to this."

"You'll get no complaints from me."


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTES: **Thanks as always to the_wordbutler for the help and encouragement.

* * *

Natasha awoke the following morning with Steve's arms around her and JARVIS announcing that she needed to leave for SHIELD headquarters in an hour. She moaned into her pillow. "I miss being on active duty; no meetings at nine in the morning on a Monday." Steve chuckled, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She twisted around in his arms and was relieved when her dream of his face morphing into Tony's didn't come true. He buried his fingers in her hair, and she sighed happily. "Not helping."

"If you stay, I'll cook you breakfast."

"JARVIS, who's my meeting with?"

"You and Agent Coulson are scheduled to meet with Directory Fury and Assistant Director Hill," the AI answered.

"Doesn't sound like you can skip that," Steve commented.

"Probably not," she said as she reluctantly rolled out of bed. She looked down at what she was wearing—a pair of his boxers and a gray t-shirt with the word ARMY across the front. "I'll give you your clothes back later."

"You're going back to your floor dressed in my stuff?"

She shrugged. "No one can keep secrets around here. Would you rather us hold a team meeting to discuss it with everyone else?"

"No, I absolutely don't want that actually. Tony will demand a Q and A time." He threw the covers off of himself and began to sit up, but Natasha reached over and shoved him back down.

"Someone should get to stay in bed this morning. You don't need to walk me to the door."

He pulled the covers back up to his chin and burrowed down into the mattress. "Well, if you insist."

She picked up the shoes on the floor and the pile of clothes she'd worn to last night that were folded in his chair by the dresser. When she walked around to the side of his bed and ran her nails along his scalp, he smiled at the sensation.

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist and held her in place. "Thank you," he said.

Natasha almost had to look away from the emotion plainly written on his face. "I'm pretty sure I should be saying that to you," she replied.

He opened his mouth, but thought twice about whatever words he was going to say. He shook his head and replaced his comment with, "Let me know if you want me to bring by a lunch or two."

She snickered. "It is convenient being around someone who eats as many meals a day as you do, isn't it?"

He let go of her wrist with a smile, and she made her way out of his apartment and then down to her floor. A note was taped to the door, and Natasha immediately recognized Pepper's handwriting.

_It is almost two in the morning. You're not home and you haven't called. JARVIS says you're in Steve's quarters. You'd better call me before noon tomorrow with details, or I'm sending Happy out to collect you and bring you to my office._

Natasha shook her head and made a mental note to call her friend once the meeting with Phil, Fury, and Hill was finished. Because Pepper would make good on her threat, and even though Natasha'd already proven she could take Happy down without blinking, Pepper would just end up sending Tony in his armor to drag her in.

She made her way through her quarters to her bedroom where she dumped both her clothes from the previous evening as well as her impromptu pajamas from Steve's into the hamper. Once she stepped into her shower, she expected to be overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety about what transpired the night before, but they didn't come. If anything, her shoulders felt mostly unburdened. It had been her best night of sleep in weeks—since the night they'd first kissed, her brain reminded her.

The independent side of her flared up in frustration at the thought that she couldn't sleep well without him by her side. But she told that part of her brain to shut up. No one thought of her as co-dependent on a man, so she shouldn't either.

Her mind flitted back to the night before. Over dinner, they'd caught each other up on what had been happening in the nearly two weeks that they had gone without speaking to each other. They'd fallen into companionable silence while Steve did dishes and Natasha stored leftovers, after which they'd made good on her pre-dinner promise. He'd pressed her up against the kitchen counter, and the lazy kissing had only stopped when he'd felt the baby move faintly against him. She'd had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering while watching his face go from lust to confusion and then to awe in a handful of seconds. He'd pulled away from her and gently rested a hand over her stomach, and even someone as cold-hearted as Natasha wasn't immune to the sweetness on his face as he waited patiently to feel something again, but nothing happened.

JARVIS brought her out her reverie with a reminder that she needed to leave in thirty minutes. Natasha mentally swore, and not for the first time, that she'd had to use the AI to replace coffee to keep her moving in the mornings.

* * *

When Natasha arrived at headquarters, she was surprised to see Bruce talking to Phil outside the conference room where the morning meeting was to take place. The men paused their conversation to watch her approach, and she tilted her head at the scientist. "How did you get roped into this?"

Bruce shrugged. "Coulson asked me to come twenty minutes ago."

Natasha eyed him and his rumpled clothes; odds were he'd spent the night staying up and working in his lab. She turned her attention towards her handler. "Care to share?"

"Let's wait until the meeting starts," he answered, his eyes subtly shifting around to take note of who might be standing around them.

Natasha felt her shoulders tighten at the answer. SHIELD was infamous for keeping secrets from the public; they were also well known from keeping secrets from other members within the organization. Days of dealing with that made Natasha long for the commonplace work issues she'd heard about while undercover—things like bickering over who didn't refill the copier with paper or who should clean out the microwave. Secrets and trading intelligence for power had been her life for as long as she could remember, but it didn't mean that she enjoyed constantly living in that environment.

"Did you eat?" Phil asked.

"I had some yogurt-granola-fruit thing in the car on the ride over."

He pursed his lips, unsatisfied with her answer. Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out a banana and a blueberry muffin. "Humor me," he said. Natasha recognized the order in the tone and took the food.

Hill and Fury arrived a moment later, the Director's leather overcoat swirling around him. Both had serious looks on their faces, but Natasha was fairly certain that was the only emotion they could express at work and tried not to read too much into it.

Wordlessly, the five of them entered the conference room and all save Fury took a seat around the table. The director pulled out a device the size and shape of a pen and pressed a button. Natasha immediately recognized the tech as a bug sweeper. They all sat quietly until the small piece of machinery beeped and flashed a green light. "Alright," Fury announced once he felt the room was secure, "let's get started.

"You were all called here today to discuss the attack last week by the latest group of unknown aliens to visit our fair planet." As he spoke, the monitors attached to the table that sat in front of each individual came to life with a series of clips of the robotic drones the team faced. "We don't know who they are, what they were looking for, or anything else, really. What we do know is they were on the ground for fifteen minutes, didn't become hostile until the Avengers showed up, and they managed to knock a super soldier unconscious." He turned his eye towards Phil and gave the handler a nod.

Phil returned the gesture and then began his part of the debrief. "Mister Stark has been studying the bullet fragments we collected from Captain Rogers's injury." As he spoke, the monitors switched from replaying bits of the battle to schematics of the bullet in question. "From what we can piece together, the projectile is made from an unknown substance. When it lodged in Captain Rogers's shoulder, it released a burst of electricity, and that was what caused him to lose consciousness."

"And I suddenly know why I'm here," Bruce muttered.

Phil looked at him. "We don't know what effect the bullet would have on the Hulk. We were hoping you could work with Mister Stark and run some tests."

"I'm surprised Tony didn't tell me about the research in the first place," Bruce said.

"Mister Stark was informed that it would be in his best interest to keep his analysis and results to himself," Hill answered, causing Natasha to wonder just what threats had been made against the billionaire to follow that particular order.

Bruce gave a bitter smirk in return. "Glad to know I'm still seen as a flight risk. Wouldn't want to ruin my reputation."

Phil went on with his debrief before things devolved completely. "We don't know if the bullet would be able to penetrate the Hulk's skin. And if it did, we're not sure if the shock would be great enough to knock him unconscious or even faze him, but we would like to have that information handy."

"Any chance that data can be kept away from a certain division of the Army?" Bruce asked.

Fury nodded. "If Ross finds out about it, it won't be from us."

"We don't think the ammunition would affect Thor," Phil continued. "He's used to the electricity, but if it had been someone else who was hit, we don't think they would've been able to survive."

Natasha tried to push away the mental images of Clint's corpse that immediately appeared. "What about Stark?" she asked.

Bruce shook his head. "If he's done preliminary testing, I can guarantee he's already redesigned all of his suits, if not come up with half a dozen new ones, to keep himself safe."

"And that's part of the problem," Phil said. "We don't know how much it would take to make any of you safe. Not when we don't know who these things are or who they're working for. They stood at attention in formation until the team came on the scene. Stark's suit picked up a passive scan being performed on each individual present, and then they broke into action. Whoever they are, they know who the team is. They were waiting for you.

"Over two hundred rounds fired between the seventeen drones, but this was the only bullet of this type we found evidence of. We don't know if it was a fluke, if someone loaded a clip with the wrong projectile, or if this was another kind of test of our strengths."

"Richards and his team have been analyzing the portals the drones used to get on and off the planet, but still no clue where their jumping off point was," Hill informed the group.

"Or if they even returned to the same place." Fury shook his head. "Does the Asgardian know anything about these guys?"

"No," Phil replied. "But he offered to return home to ask around if we wanted him to."

Fury chewed the thought over for a few seconds before nodding. "Send him." He finally took a seat after issuing the order. "Anything else on the matter? No? Let's talk about the latest round of cleanup and reconstruction."

* * *

Natasha checked her phone once the meeting was over. True to his word, Steve had sent her a text offering lunch. She was about to reply as she stepped out into the hallway when her eyes fell on Happy waiting patiently by the elevators. He gave her a smile and a little finger wave. She nodded at him and walked towards him. "I assume you're my escort?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed. "Let's go." She sent a quick text back to Steve letting him know that she'd been summoned and that he would have to find an alternate plan for lunch.

On the ride to the Stark Industries' New York City offices, Natasha tried to calm her thoughts. She didn't like being without intel, and there was hardly any when it came to whatever these things were. She saw a lot of studying replays of video feeds from the fight in her future—not that she didn't already have it committed to memory.

When she was ushered into Pepper's expansive office, the other woman waved her to a chair in front of the desk while she was in the middle of her phone call. "Sorry," Pepper mouthed before pointing over toward the bar where someone had laid out a spread of salad fixings and sandwiches.

Natasha rose and made herself a plate before retaking her seat and eating. Pepper's phone call didn't end until Natasha's plate was cleared and the office had seen a few assistants come in and out to drop off reports, leave post-it notes, or use hand signals to carry on full conversations while Pepper maintained her discussion on the phone.

She eventually got off the call with an apology to Natasha. "Our tower construction in Rio is experiencing some issues. We had to replace the on-site manager," she explained while moving off to fix her own plate. "Feel free to eat some more if you want."

"Maybe in five minutes, but I'm good for now."

Pepper nodded and sat back down in her chair before raising both her eyebrows in an expectant expression towards Natasha. "Well?"

"We talked, we kissed, we ate, more kissing, we slept."

Pepper's shoulders and face simultaneously fell. "You are the worst at girl talk."

Natasha shrugged in response. "Too many years of mission debriefs."

"What did you at least talk about?"

"Things," Natasha answered, which caused Pepper to roll her eyes. "I'm not going to give you a transcript of everything that happens. You're my friend and I trust you, but I have to keep some things to myself. It's the only way I know how to live my life."

"Fine," Pepper sighed.

"But we decided to give things a shot."

"I gathered from the double makeout session. But still no sex?" Pepper asked with the hint of a pout.

Natasha gave her a look of exasperation. "No."

"Why not?"

Natasha studied her fingernails for a moment as she tried to word her answer. "Sex is a job. It's a way to get things out of people—favors, information. It can be a distraction for you to knock someone unconscious, if not kill them outright. It's a bullet point on a mission outline." She shook her curls with a sigh. "Besides, even if there wasn't all of that, there's still the fact that I'm becoming more whale-like with each passing second. And if the increase in size wasn't bad enough, there are all kinds of other changes happening," she explained with vague hand gestures motioning in front of her chest and abdomen. "It's disturbing and disgusting."

Noise from outside the office—ringing phones, quick steps, murmured voices—was the only sound for a moment while Pepper chewed thoughtfully. "Do you think it's true? That he's still a virgin?"

Natasha's mind flashed back to a conversation the team shared seven months ago on the Quinjet. They were all tired, but too keyed up from a fight over in Europe somewhere to keep quiet or sleep. Somehow they'd drifted onto the conversational topic of first time experiences. When it was Steve's turn, he'd reluctantly told a story about how his best friend snuck the pair of them into a whorehouse when they were fifteen. Natasha knew what Steve looked like when he lied, and she hadn't seen that in him when he was telling the story.

"I don't think so," she answered.

Whatever comment Pepper was going to say was cut off when an assistant poked her head in the door. "We need to leave in two minutes."

"Thank you, Rachel," Pepper answered before shooting a look of sympathy to Natasha. "This is the part where I have to kick you out."

"Thanks for lunch," Natasha replied as she eased herself up and out of the chair.

"Take some to go before the support staff comes in here and scavenges if you want. Oh, and Tony was talking about having a movie night on our floor if you want to join. Sometime around eight, probably."

"Sure," she answered.

* * *

Happy had offered to take her back to headquarters, but she told him to drive her back to the Tower instead and sent a text to Phil that she'd be working remotely for the rest of the day (after a nap). She gave in to rest for an hour before making her way down to the workshop where she correctly assumed Tony and Bruce would be working on their tests.

She quietly made her way into the large, open room and dodged the bots zooming around working on their various tasks. She walked around Tony and Bruce, who were rapidly firing off terms she didn't even try to understand, and sank down onto the couch. She toed off her shoes and propped her feet up under a couple of pillows that were haphazardly strewn on the piece of furniture. Tony looked over at her and paused his conversation long enough to comment, "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" She flipped him off in response. "Classy," he retorted. "What are you doing down here?"

"Eavesdropping on your theories to see if there's any weight to them."

Tony gave her look of superior skepticism. "You really think you can follow what we're going to say?"

She shrugged. "I know what kind of specialty tea Bruce likes. I'll bribe him into translating for me later."

Whatever snark Tony was about to throw back her way was interrupted by Thor entering the space dressed in his Asgardian causal grab—his armor minus the cape and sleeves, Mjolnir swinging from his belt. "Friend Stark, I require a piece of the projectile to take with me back to Asgard."

Bruce frowned. "Do you really have to take a piece back with you? We don't have that much to begin with."

"Aye. It will be the surest way to see if these beings or whomever they serve are known in our realms."

Tony moved over to the bench where the experiments were being run. With a set of tweezers, he picked up one of the smaller fragments and put it in a small glass container. He handed the miniature jar to the alien prince, who placed it in a pocket on his belt. "Thank you," Thor said.

"You're leaving now?" Natasha asked while propping herself up into a seated position.

"Indeed," Thor answered.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a second before saying, "You remember what we talked about, right?"

He gave her a solemn nod. "You have my word. I would never betray your trust." Natasha eyed him a moment longer before giving her head a small and quick jerk as a combined thank you and dismissal. "Inform the Son of Coul that I will return as soon as possible." With that, he turned and left.

"What did you two talk about?" Tony asked.

Bruce answered for her. "If she wanted you to know, she wouldn't have been so cryptic. Mind your own business."

"You of all people should know I can't do that."

Bruce rolled his eyes and redirected his scientific counterpart back to the task at hand.

* * *

Natasha was the last one to arrive for the impromptu movie night. Her phone conversation with Hill where she'd relayed Bruce and Tony's preliminary findings from that afternoon had gone long.

"About time," Tony called at her when she stepped off the elevator.

"Sorry for working," Natasha replied.

She moved towards the couch. Steve sat in the middle of it with his left arm stretched out over the back of the empty space next to him. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a slight nod letting her know it was fine to show some form of togetherness. Natasha sunk down next to him and pressed her side up against his, her right arm draped along the length of his thigh. The physical presence of him against her settling a portion of her nerves from the day's discussions.

Tony's eyes bugged out slightly at the sight. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Pepper, who was curled up next to him, sighed. "I've told you about that on five different occasions."

"You know you have to say something at least a dozen times to me before it sinks in. So really, this is your own fault."

"Leave them alone, Tony," Bruce urged from his spot on the opposite side of Steve.

"Steve," Clint started from the oversized chair he'd obviously crammed himself into after Phil had sat down in it, "do we need to have a chat about how you should treat Natasha if you don't want me to pin you to a wall with my arrows?"

"No," everyone else in the room answered simultaneously.

"At least not from you," Phil added.

"You're not going to do it either," Natasha shot back. "We're adults. Mind your own business."

"You live under my roof—" Tony started.

But he was cut off by Pepper, "So we will respect your privacy." Even though the statement was directed at Steve and Natasha, she kept her gaze on Tony will saying it. He rolled his eyes in return.

"Can we start the movie now?" Steve asked.

"Ugh, fine," Tony replied. "JARVIS, cue it up." His gaze swept across the room. "Bruce? Do you need to come over and cuddle with me and Pep so you're not left out in the assured grope session that's about to start?" He paused to point an accusatory finger at Phil and Clint. "That was not me giving you permission. I don't want to be anywhere near you two when that happens. I'm just trying to accept the inevitable." Clint smirked in response while Phil shook his head.

Tony then turned the finger on Steve and Natasha. "You two kids, you grope you all you want. Just don't mind me watching." He then finally turned to Pepper. "And as for you," he started with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"What makes you think I want grope you first?" Pepper shot back.

He let out a low growl in response. "I will get down and nasty with you right here, right now. You know I will."

Pepper chuckled while shoving him off. "We have guests; try and behave."

"They live here; they're not guests. Bruce? I'm serious. Plenty of love to go around if you're feeling left out. I'm sure Thor would be happy to step up to the plate if he were here, but—"

Bruce heaved a sigh. "Shut up, Tony."


	17. Chapter 17

**NOTES: **Thanks as always to **the_wordbutler** for the beta.

* * *

She came out of an alley, movement and flares of light all around here. The air was filled with odors of dust, gunpowder, and ozone—a familiar scent she'd missed inhaling in the last six months.

Steve was the first to fall. His shield blocking shots from his front, he missed the drone aiming at him from behind. The shooter was ten feet ahead of her and slightly to her left. She dashed with all available speed at the machine but couldn't tackle it before the shot was fired. A yell escaped her—fueled with remorse, anger, and vengeance—and she laid herself flat out in the air as she soared to tackle Steve's killer, but a hairsbreadth before her arms wrapped around the enemy, it vanished. She landed face first in the street. Quickly, she rose and ran to Steve's side. She turned his body over so he was lying on his back. He looked up at her with lifeless eyes, a line of blood running down his chin from the left corner of his mouth.

Tony fell next. She heard his repulsors high in the air above her. She looked up and behind just in time to see his right shoulder wrench backwards with the impact of the bullet. Immediately, blue arcs of energy coursed all along the outer shell of the red and gold armor. Tony fought to stabilize himself in the air for a moment before the repulsors failed. The Hulk was too distracted by his own swarm of drones two blocks away to repeat his catching act from the Battle of New York. Tony sank twenty stories through the air at a terrifying speed, and when he hit the street, it formed a crater. She ran to him. The first thing she noticed when she reached his side was that it was the first time she'd ever seen the arc reactor dark and useless in his chest. Not that it mattered, because in the end the armor Tony'd built as the ultimate act of self-preservation was his undoing. The metal crushed the body inside.

Her head turned on instinct at the sound of the Hulk releasing a fierce roar. At first she assumed it was some gut-wrenching cry over Tony's death, but then she noticed his outstretched arm—and Clint's form falling just outside of the monster's reach. Her breath left her when her best friend's body hit the ground. She didn't need to rush to his side to confirm anything; the awkward angle of his limbs and the height from which he'd fallen assured her that Clint was dead.

She whispered a goodbye at the fallen archer, an old Russian phrase, before reluctantly pulling her attention back to the Hulk. Through the haze of her tears, she noticed for the first time the dark streaks running down The Other Guy's bare torso. Whoever these drones were, they'd found a way to make him bleed. He jumped down from his position hanging on the side of a building to land in the middle of the street. Dozens of drones swarmed him immediately, and he began to angrily and blindly swat them away like they were insects, but there were too many of them. She ran toward him to offer what little aid she could when one of the drones came up behind her and wrapped its arms around her. She struggled to break free of the hold as the Hulk's back arched in pain. A second later, he staggered and collapsed the ground. The giant green form shifted and downsized into Bruce. And between the bodies of her enemies, she saw a single drone step forward. It raised the butt of its rifle in the air and hold it there a moment before driving it down into Bruce's skull.

"Natasha!"

The voice was Steve's, but not even super soldier serum could've saved him from taking a bullet through the back to the heart. Yet, he continued to say her name, his lips the only part of him moving. The drone's arms around her tightened and began to shake.

She jerked back to consciousness with Steve's arms wrapped tight around her, him repeating her name in her ear. "Off, off, off, off, off," she ordered, and he complied. He let go of her and edged as far away from her as he could on her mattress. Natasha sat up and swung her feet to the ground, toes digging into the carpet in an attempt to ground herself in reality. Thankfully, they'd chosen to stay on her floor last night after the movie; she didn't think she'd be able to calm herself as quickly in Steve's quarters. She stared down at her feet while her right hand gripped the edge of the bed and her left rubbed circles on her stomach. Her daughter must have picked up on her distress, because she was now moving about. Natasha focused on the bead of sweat dripping its way down her spine. In an attempt to shut out her nightmare, she closed her mind off to everything but the path the drop made down her back. Once it reached the waistband of her shorts, she shakily pushed herself up and off the bed. She could sense Steve's hand hovering a few inches away from her back and she waved him off. "I need to pee," was the only explanation she gave him.

Once she'd relieved herself, she stepped over the sink and splashed cold water on her face. It wasn't enough. She grabbed a washcloth, drenched it under the faucet, and stripped off her sweat-soaked shirt. She then used the wet cloth to wipe down her chest, stomach, neck, and arms, sighing at the immediate relief it brought.

Steve knocked against the closed bathroom door. "You okay?" he asked.

"Better," she called out.

"Where do you keep your clean sheets? I'll remake the bed."

"On the shelf in the closet."

She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she leaned forward on the counter. Her life had been turned upside down in the last six months, and the part she hated the most was the giant increase in fear she'd developed. Used to be, she wasn't afraid of anything.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't so much that she was fearless, it was that she didn't have anyone or anything to care about. That was certainly no longer the case. Part of her felt angered that she'd made herself weak. The other part couldn't imagine life without the team who had become her family.

She brushed her teeth to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. Her shirt was still on the bathroom tile, but she couldn't find the wherewithal to pick it up. She was too exhausted to deal with modesty, so she covered her chest as best she could with her left arm and opened the door into her bedroom. Steve's head peaked up at her as he struggled with the clean fitted sheet, but he immediately looked away. She went to her dresser and pulled out a clean shirt and threw it on with her back to him. She then moved to her side of the bed and helped him with the sheets.

"You don't need to do that," he told her.

"It's fine. Thanks for getting it started."

He nodded. "You need a bigger mattress," Steve commented about her full-sized bed.

She tucked the corners of the top sheet under the mattress before answering him. "Tony offered when he put my floor together, but I told him it wasn't necessary. I never planned on sharing my bed with anyone. Well, maybe Clint last summer, but only because I didn't want to leave him on his own. And he's so clingy anyway, it didn't matter how big my bed was. Anyway, it was only ever supposed to be my bed. Not something I'd share with someone else. Or a baby."

"I don't have to be here if—"

"Surely by now you should know that I don't agree to anything I don't want to. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have let you stay last night."

He nodded as he shoved a pillow inside a pillowcase. He fluffed the object in his hands and then tossed it onto the bed. "You want to talk about it?"

Her mind immediately flashed to images of fallen bodies all around her. "Not yet."

"You want to try and go back to sleep?"

"What time is it?"

"A little after four."

Natasha sighed. She needed to fall back asleep but couldn't just yet. "In a bit, just can't right now."

His eyes fell to her stomach. "Is she keeping you awake?"

She shook her head. "She woke up when I did, but she's calmed down again." She sank down on the mattress with an exhausted sigh but didn't lie down. Instead she propped her pillow up against the headboard before sitting up against it. Steve followed suit.

"I'll try not to sleep like Clint and cling to you," he told her quietly.

"You're fine. I just—" She sighed and ran a hand through her curls. "I dreamt that the drones returned. I thought it was one of them wrapping around me and holding me back."

"Where was I?" She kept quiet long enough for him to figure it out. "Ah."

"Yeah. I had to watch them pick off the team one by one."

Steve remained silent for a moment, his fingers gently beating out a rhythm on the sheets. "I've read your file a few times; I don't remember seeing anything in there about you having dreams that foretold the future."

She shook her head. "I can't do that." It then dawned on her where Steve was leading the conversation. "Doesn't mean it still won't happen."

"It's also not a guarantee. Nothing is—you and I know that. But for now? For tonight? You do not have dreams that tell the future." She nodded as he shifted so he was lying down properly in the bed. He reached over and patted her left knee. "C'mon, let's go back to sleep. I promise to keep my arms to myself."

She followed his lead and was grateful for his offer to give her space. She enjoyed the warmth his hold provided and the strength that was there, but she needed breathing room after her nightmare. They wound up on their sides facing each other. He leaned over to place a kiss on her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers and holding it there for a moment. He then pulled back and settled his head on his pillow. "G'night. Or morning. Whichever."

When she awoke hours later, she was alone in the bed. She turned onto her back and looked around the room, but didn't see a sign of him. "JARVIS? Was there an assemble call?"

"Negative, Agent Romanoff. If you are looking for Captain Rogers, he is in the nursery."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"It is currently eight-thirty-seven."

After a stop at the bathroom, Natasha padded over to the nursery. Steve was standing in front of the crib, one hand straightening the plush toys inside while the other held a steaming mug.

"You made coffee in my own quarters when I can't drink any? Treason, Rogers."

He grinned and took a sip, but kept his eyes on the pale yellow bedding. "You sleep better this time around?"

"Successfully dream-free," she answered as she pushed off the doorjamb and made her way to sit in the rocking chair. "You been up long?"

He shook his head. "Long enough to make coffee and come in here for a bit. Didn't really get a good look the last time."

"What do you think?"

"I think she needs clothes."

Natasha groaned. "I still have a week or so before Pepper drags me out to every baby boutique in the tri-state area."

He turned to lean against the crib and crossed his feet at his ankles. "What are you doing this weekend?"

She shrugged. "Nothing other than the usual."

"We could maybe go and shop? Pre-emptive strike before Pepper takes over? I mean, I don't really know what you dress babies in these days, but I'll help if you want."

She chuckled, which caused him to grimace and look down at his mug. "No, no it's not you. That's sweet of you to offer. I'm just thinking about what people would say if they spotted Captain America and the Black Widow out shopping together for baby booties."

"I wear a spangly, blue, skintight suit. I'm used to being mocked. When do you need to go into work?"

"Not till this afternoon; I have a doctor's appointment this morning. Would you want to come?" she asked tentatively.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Umm, sure. What time?"

"I'm heading down to medical in two hours."

"So enough time for breakfast, and then I'll go back to my floor and get cleaned up."

"If you can find food in my kitchen, you're more than welcome to cook."

He smiled. "Okay, how about you get cleaned up, I'll go upstairs and get food going and you come up when you're ready?"

"I approve of this plan."

"Okay, then. See you in a bit."

She leaned forward and snatched the hem of his undershirt as he passed. Pulling him toward her, she tilted her head up, and he bent down to kiss her. She moaned as she deepened the kiss and pulled away with a happy sigh. "I've missed coffee."

Steve scoffed at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Two hours later, they were sitting in the exam room. Natasha and Steve sat in the two chairs in the room while Clint held up a wall. Natasha forgot she'd invited him to tag along as usual last week. He'd offered to step out when he saw Steve trailing behind her, but both of him had told him to stay.

When Doctor McClellan entered the room, her caught on Steve first. "Huh, you're new," she commented. She then saw Clint still hanging around, and she turned to Natasha and shook her head. "Why don't you go ahead and get changed, and we'll get started?"

Natasha followed her doctor's orders and changed into the patient's gown. She climbed up on the exam table, and the men took the customary place near her head while the doctor began her examinations. Natasha remembered the results of her last appointment—not that the thought had ever strayed far from her mind—and McClellan had barely finished making her last note before Natasha brought up the subject.

The doctor shrugged. "She's still measuring small, but it's still not anything to worry about." She paused to flip through the pages of Natasha's file and sighed.

"Is something else wrong?" Steve asked with a note of worry in his voice.

"Yes," she answered, raising her eyes to Natasha. "Your job is too stressful. Your blood pressure is running high, which might have a part in the fetus being small."

"Can't imagine why I'd be stressed from work," Natasha muttered and then winced when her doctor's glared at her.

"This is your warning, Miss Romanoff. Fewer hours, fewer mission-related duties, whatever it's going to take. Because if you don't, I'll order it for you."

"Is it that bad?" Steve asked.

McClellan pursed her lips. "Not yet. But I'd rather scare her now than have to take drastic steps down the road. Even us on the OB team know what it's like to work for SHIELD, as well as how poorly some people can be at following medical orders." She turned her attention back to Natasha. "Ease up on work. I know that's hard to do since you seem to literally take it home with you—" She paused to look at both Steve and Clint. "—but you need to try. Don't make me give you the preeclampsia pamphlet."

"Is that something I should be worried about?" Natasha asked.

"Not at the moment, and probably not ever. In fact, please don't worry about it. Don't worry about anything."

"I'll talk to Phil," Clint told Natasha. "Unless you're actually going to do it yourself."

"I can make sure she does," Steve said, his Captain tone of voice sneaking into the conversation.

Natasha fought an eye roll. "I'm an adult; I can have the conversation myself." Clint gave her a look that said he wasn't sure she was going make good on her word, and she did roll her eyes at that. "This isn't a twisted ankle or a sprained wrist after a mission. Unlike you, I actually know when I should and shouldn't hide medical conditions that might impair my job. I'll talk to him this afternoon."

"Do we need to make rules about work?" Steve asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

It was the first time she honestly wondered if she'd made a good decision by giving Steve so much room in her life. She didn't need a babysitter. "No," Natasha answered, her tone making it clear to drop it.

Clint obviously caught it because he took a cautionary step away from her and raised his hands. "I am officially no longer part of this conversation." He turned to look at Doctor McClellan. "Can you make a note about that in the file? 'Specialist Barton removed himself from the conversation at this juncture.'"

"We'll discuss this later," Steve told her.

"I have no doubt about that," Natasha responded. She sighed and turned back to her doctor. "Anything else?"

McClellan flipped through the chart once more. "You're at twenty-four weeks, so if something did cause premature labor—which I'm not saying you're in danger of right now—she has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving, and her odds are going to increase with each day. You have three weeks left in your second trimester, so enjoy the view of your toes while you can still see them. Other than that, I'll see you in another four weeks. Call me if anything starts to feel wrong—discharges, contractions, gut-instincts, whatever."

Clint shuddered. "'Discharge' is now my least favorite word ever," he muttered.

* * *

Two hours, lunch, and a heated discussion with Steve later, Natasha found herself walking into Phil's office. He kept his eyes on whatever forms he was filling out while she maneuvered into a chair.

"Clint warned me you'd be coming," he said by means of a greeting.

"Your boyfriend needs to stop being a tattletale," she huffed in response.

"He's concerned."

"I'm getting enough of that from the super soldier front, I don't need Clint's help."

Her comment brought Phil's eyes up to meet hers, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Everything okay?" he asked softly. Natasha shrugged. She then began to curse her ridiculous hormones for causing her eyes to tear up. "Tasha?"

"What if the only thing we're good at is fighting?"

Phil set his pen down on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Fighting is still communicating," he answered with a shrug. "Better than giving each other the silent treatment. What did you argue about?"

"The same thing I came to talk to you about," she answered with a sniffle. Phil handed her a tissue, which she angrily snatched from his grasp. "He said I needed to focus more on the baby. How can I focus on anything else? The thing is attached to me. I have to think about it every time I look down or move."

"He's just concerned."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you taking his side?"

Phil Coulson was the only man on earth who would respond to her threatening tone of voice with an eye roll. "I maintain what I said two weeks ago—you two want the same thing."

"And I still maintain that his idea and mine look different. I don't want to sit in some corner being useless. He wants me at home all day, barefoot and in the kitchen."

"No one in their right mind wants you in the kitchen, Natasha." He paused a second to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I know how protective you are of the members of your team—whether you're willing to admit it about certain individuals named Stark or not—but they are, _we_ are, equally as protective of you." He leaned forward on his desk, leaning on his crossed forearms. "No one has ever seen you as a damsel in distress, and they certainly don't now. If anything, you're currently solidifying your position of toughest member of the team. If Loki had magically gotten anyone else pregnant? I'd rather play dead again than have to deal with that.

"And, even though you haven't been out there with them, they've managed without you." Before she could make any response, he held up a hand to let her know he wasn't finished. "It doesn't mean they're better without you, or that things are easier with you on the sidelines. Quite the contrary. But they're surviving."

His word choice caused her nightmare from that morning to flash back into her mind and she fought a shake of her head. She sniffled again, finally starting to calm herself down. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted quietly.

"You'll learn, you'll adapt. You always do. No one is making you spend your days on the couch watching bad television and eating chocolate, because if that were an actual job within SHIELD, I would love to apply." He paused again, the lines of his face softening slightly. "All we want is for you to take things a little easier."

She turned his words over in her head. "I don't know how to be bored."

"Ask Clint; he could write a thesis on the subject."

She gave a shaky sigh in response. "Okay."

"Really? Or are you just saying that hoping it will get you out of here without any more discussion about restrictions?"

She gave him another ineffective glare. "I will cut back on hours and attempt to decrease the amount of stress in my life."

He nodded. "We will be changing some of your assignments. You will not see it as an insult to your intelligence. You will see it as us doing our best to look out for the welfare of you and your child. Nothing more. You're not being demoted. Your position as an active field agent and Initiative member will still be waiting on you if you still want it after the baby's born." She chewed her bottom lip a moment before thanking him. "Better?" he asked tentatively.

She gave him a single-shoulder shrug as an answer. "Mind if I hide out in here for a bit?" She knew her eyes were still red, and she'd be damned if other agents saw her in a moment of hormonal weakness.

"Of course," he responded, pen snatched back up into his hand and eyes focused on his paperwork. "But you can't hide from him forever."

* * *

In an attempt to be better about this whole "taking it easier" idea, Natasha borrowed Phil's couch for a nap before slipping out of his office. Both Steve's quarters and her own were empty when she arrived back at the Tower. JARVIS informed her that Steve was in the gym, and Natasha fought off a sigh.

Just as she feared, she saw him at the heavy bag when she walked in. He was standing in a puddle of sand and taking out his aggression. On the ground to his left lay four bags side by side, each deflated from a loss of the material inside. She sat down on the bench to his right and waited for him to take a break from his punching routine, but he didn't.

"SHIELD is going to start taking the cost of new punching bags directly out of your paycheck if you keep this up," Natasha commented.

"Wasn't me," Steve grunted while continually landing hit after hit. He finally paused, but he kept his eyes on the gently swaying bag. "That would be your ex-boyfriend." He then pulled a balled-up note out of his pocket and tossed in Natasha's direction.

She nimbly caught it and tried to shove down the anger she felt flare up at the title Steve chose for Clint. She unfolded the crumpled page with a hole in the middle where it had been stabbed onto an arrow shaft and instantly recognized the archer's handwriting.

_Next time they'll be in you._

She looked up and saw the arrows in a neat pile near the bags on the ground.

"Are you going to run off to him every time we have a discussion?" he asked, a challenging tone in his voice.

Natasha glared at his back. "I haven't even talked to Clint since my appointment."

Steve turned and gave her a skeptical look. "Then how did he know?"

"Because Clint and Phil tell each other everything." Before he could rudely question her about discussions with her handler, Natasha explained, "I went to Phil like everyone told me to in order to talk about me easing back on things."

"Why would Barton be mad at me for that?"

Natasha turned her focus on the toes of her boots. "I may have cried in Phil's office," she muttered.

He and his serum-enhanced hearing froze at her answer. "I made you cry?" he asked quietly.

"No, my idiotic hormones made me cry. You just pissed me off."

He moved towards the bench sat down next to her with a sigh. As he unwrapped the tape from around his knuckles, he worked his jaw back and forth in an attempt to say something, but she cut him off before he could start.

"I didn't give Phil a word-for-word transcript of our discussion. I didn't run to Clint to rat on you. Hell, I didn't even tell Pepper about when we kissed. I know how to keep secrets," she added pointedly. "And I don't take orders from people, especially men, on how to run my personal life. Not anymore. So if that's going to be a problem, you should tell me right now."

"Giving orders is sometimes the only way I know how to do things," he answered. "It's nothing against you. It's not that I don't trust you it's just—" He sighed and ran a hand down his sweaty face. "I was a sick kid growing up. Really sick. And ever since you told me the baby was looking small, it made me scared she's going to have the same kind of childhood I did."

"Why do you think I would intentionally put her in harm's way?" Natasha asked, turning her head to look at him.

He at least cringed at the accusation. "I never meant to imply that."

"That's not how it felt."

Whatever response he was going to give was cut off by Tony rushing into the gym. "Fantastic Four are in over their heads in Europe. Quinjet is taking off in two minutes. Let's go." He turned and ran back out the door before Steve acknowledged the message with a nod.

He stood and looked down at her, but she wasn't in the mood to hear anything out of his mouth, whether it would be an apology or a new topic to fight over. Instead of saying anything, she waved him off. He nodded again, and his jaw quickly set into hard lines. After he ran out of the gym to follow Tony, Natasha pulled out her cell phone and sent a text to Clint.

_Pull that shit again and I'll ram your arrows up your own ass._


	18. Chapter 18

**NOTES: **As always, thanks to **the_wordbutler** for helping me with my words.

* * *

Natasha woke up on Saturday morning and blinked against the streaming light pouring into her bedroom. The team had been in Europe since they were requested for backup on Tuesday, and Pepper had spent the week traveling again, checking in on the progress of the dozen Tower construction projects. In some ways Natasha was grateful for the quiet and emptiness, but she knew it was just a big stalling tactic until everyone—well, Steve—came back and discussions would have to be finished.

She hadn't heard a word from any of the men since they left but had caught glimpses of news reports on the television. The footage SHIELD had authorized the news networks to use didn't look any worse than normal, and Sitwell hadn't sought her out, so Natasha took the saying of _no news is good news_ to heart.

She'd just finished a gluttonous amount of food for breakfast and was in the middle of brewing some herbal tea blend Bruce had given her when someone knocked on her door. She made her way out of the kitchen and opened the door to her quarters. An exhausted Steve stood in the entrance.

"Hey," he greeted.

Natasha felt a small jolt in her stomach as soon as he spoke and her eyes quickly flicked down before looking back up at him. His clothes were rumpled and his eyes were as baggy as the serum would allow. "You look dead on your feet."

"Feel that way, too."

The kettle on her stove started to whistle, and she grabbed him by the wrist to pull him inside. "Get some sleep—couch or bed, your choice."

"We need to talk," he said, following her into the open kitchen as she shut off the stove and poured hot water into her prepared mug.

"Not when you're this tired. You want some?" she asked while lifting the kettle slightly at him.

He sniffed in the direction of her mug and made a face. "No, thank you."

"I'm serious," she replied. "I'm not talking to you until you get some rest."

"I'll just go back up to my own quarters."

She rolled her eyes. "God, Rogers, we've spent more nights together than we have apart in the last six weeks. Don't be an idiot. Bed or couch?"

"Bed," he finally answered.

"I just got out of it, so it's not really made, but have at."

"Since when do you make the bed anyway?" he asked, looking over his shoulder. He paused in the doorway of her bedroom and turned back around to face her. "Any chance you're still tired?"

She shook her head. "But I can read." She took her tea and followed him. She sat down on top of the bedding and exchanged her mug for the book on her nightstand. It was some piece of nonfiction on ancient Egypt she'd been reading all week. Well, trying to read; since Tuesday, she mostly just stared blankly at the letters on the page while other thoughts swirled around her mind.

She put one of the pillows behind her back and sat up against the headboard while Steve finished stripping down to his undershirt and underwear. Wearily, he crawled into bed beside her. He shifted on to his side so he was facing her direction. "I thought you said you were going to give me that back."

She looked down at the gray ARMY shirt she was wearing. "I never specified a date. And super-soldier is the only size that feels loose and comfortable enough to sleep in. Prepare to have the contents of your dresser pilfered."

He gave a quick huff of silent laughter. "Wake me up in two hours."

"I'll wake you up when you've had enough sleep, regardless of the time. You get to boss me around, then I get to do the same for you." He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "Sleep," she ordered.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and his fingers of his left hand flexed. She caught the itch of movement out of the corner of her eye. "She missed you, too," Natasha said softly. His head come up from the pillow as he looked at her with a questioning expression. She put her book down at her side as she explained, "She moved as soon as she heard your voice."

"Natasha," he whispered.

Wordlessly, she reached out and took his hand. She laid it atop her stomach and went back to her book. "Sleep," she ordered once more. She knew when he finally gave in to the request when his hand limply slipped from her belly to her thigh a few minutes later.

She looked down and studied him once he fell into unconsciousness. His shoulders were tight, and stress was evident on his face, even in sleep. She was tempted to grab her phone and text Phil for details on how their trip had gone, but she fought the urge. She wanted to be respectful of his wishes for information to stay between the two of them, as much as that could happen when living in a tower with a group of people who were spies, nosy as hell, or both.

She read up on the Middle Kingdom of Egypt while he slept beside her. She lasted nearly four hours before a kick to the bladder made the constant need to pee too strong to ignore. Slipping as smoothly as she could out of the bed, she made her way to the bathroom. By the time she came out, Steve was on his back, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost two-thirty." She slapped at his feet as she passed the bed. "C'mon—food."

She made her way back out to the kitchen and opened her refrigerator. It was half-full, the contents mostly falling under the category of leftover takeout except for the top shelf, which held four plastic containers of pineapple chunks, her most popular craving.

Steve's hand reached over her shoulder and grabbed at a pizza box. "It's veggie," she told him before he pulled it out completely. The box froze a moment before he set it back down on the shelf.

"Have anything with meat?"

She reached for a white Styrofoam box and passed it to him. "Steak," she informed him, and he let out a happy little sigh when he opened it. She in turn grabbed the pizza for herself and a container of pineapple before grabbing a cutting board and a knife. Out of habit, she leaned with her stomach up against the kitchen counter quickly, pulling back with a groan. "Add that to the list of things I can't do anymore." She made quick work of dicing some pineapple chunks into smaller pieces before sprinkling them over three slices of pizza.

The pair ate in silence at the dining room table after Steve poked fun of her choice of cold pizza with bonus fruit topping. She informed him that a man who had a drawer full on nothing but beef jerky had no room to judge on food choices, and that for people who hadn't been frozen in ice for seventy years, it really wasn't that odd of a combination. He cleared dishes and picked up the kitchen while she sat and watched him move about. "Thor with you?" she asked.

"No, he didn't show up when we were over there. Is he not back yet?"

"Not that I've seen." She shoved down the worry associated with that and instead moved on to the needed discussion. "So are we going to talk about this now or what?"

"You want to start?" he asked.

"No."

"Fine," he sighed. "You want to give me a head's up on what specifically I should apologize for so we can cut to the chase?"

"I don't want apologies. In my experience, the words 'I'm sorry' are usually a lie."

He looked up at her, remorse evident on his face. She felt her shoulders tense; she didn't want pity for the life she'd had. Just because she hadn't had typical experiences didn't mean she sought out the things that had happened to her. But she'd dealt with them the best she could, and she didn't want someone feeling bad for her when she'd survived.

She drummed the fingertips of her right hand on the surface of the table while she put her thoughts together. "I need you to trust me. I need you to know that I'm not going to run around and tell everyone everything that happens to us. But I also need you to know that Clint and Phil are family; they're the only constants my life's had in the last seven years, and they were the first people to treat me as a person instead of an asset in decades."

Steve nodded. "It's just hard. Part of it is because I want you to trust me as much as you do them. The other part is jealousy that I don't have family like that anymore. And I want that again." He paused to shrug while rinsing soap bubbles off of a plate. "I just get impatient sometimes. And it frustrates me that they know you so well, especially Clint. Seems like he likes to flaunt just how well, most of the time," he ended in a mutter.

She rose from her chair to move to a stool at the kitchen bar so she could sit directly across from him. "He brags about that because that was the only part of us as a couple that worked—and sometimes even that wasn't so great." He didn't press for greater details, and she wasn't about to give him any more. "If you want me to tell him to knock it off, I can. And he will. I know how to threaten him, and the last thing Phil would want is his boyfriend pissing off his childhood hero."

Steve shook his head. "How was your schedule this week?"

She resisted the urge of telling him she didn't need a babysitter. "Fine. Quiet. Boring. But I was good and kept my hours to a minimum."

"Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you," she replied, letting a bit of acidity seep into her voice.

"I know," he replied gently. "And I'm sorry you felt like I was ordering you around. Or, rather, that I _was_ ordering you around." He paused before quietly adding, "The last thing I want is to be grouped with those men from your past."

"You're not like them," she countered, causing him to shrug. "Steve," she said, and he raised his eyes to meet hers, "trust me. I don't think you could ever be like them." Her mind flashed back to the first nightmare she'd had in his bed with her creators ripping her child from her body to remake a Black Widow.

"Still, I'd rather not have that accusation leveled at me again. I'll try to be better about communicating."

"I think we're both pretty rough at that." She looked down at her nails that were growing too quickly to keep up with her manicures. "And I do trust you, by the way. No, probably not as much Phil or Clint, at least not yet."

He nodded. "I'll settle for 'not yet'."

Natasha clicked through her mental checklist of unfinished discussions. "Anything else we need to cover? We good?"

"Yeah," he said placing the final glass into the drying rack. "We're good. But for the record, I hate being in a comms blackout in the middle of a disagreement."

"Yeah, what was that about?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Something the UN didn't want leaked to the public, and they were worried that we'd spill state secrets if we had communications access."

"And by 'we,' you mean Stark?"

He nodded. "Apparently he still holds some grudge against the UN from his weapons-designing days." He shrugged. "I don't exactly remember what the deal was; I've started blocking him out whenever he starts going on his rants unless it involves me."

"You've just now started doing that? After living with him for a year? You're a far greater person than I could ever be."

He chuckled while drying his hands and setting the towel down on the counter. "You still feel up for shopping?"

"No, the thought terrifies me. But it needs done."

"You want to get cleaned up and meet back up in an hour? Is that long enough?"

"Sounds like a plan. Meet you in the parking garage."

* * *

Ninety minutes later, they walked into a Babies 'R' Us, a store name pulled from the list of JARVIS's suggestions, and froze.

"This place is fifty times bigger than the apartment I grew up in. At least," Steve breathed.

"We did not do adequate recon."

"Agreed. Okay," he said, getting a focused expression on his face, "mission parameters?"

She wanted to mock him for putting their task in that set of mind, but it was the context where her brain worked best, so she allowed it. "We're not going overboard. Newborn clothes. Ten outfits. We'll get more later after we've done more legwork."

"Are you here to register?"

Natasha's gaze snapped from trying to take in the whole store to the young clerk standing in front of them. She looked like she was barely old enough to hold a job and absolutely uncomfortable with being responsible for greeting new customers.

"Register?" Steve asked.

The girl—Mandy, according to the badge pinned to the polo the store used as a uniform—nodded. "For a baby shower."

Steve looked down at Natasha. "Are we having one of those?" he inquired quietly.

"If someone I know has her way, yes," she muttered before returning her attention to the clerk. "Not today. We were just going to look for some clothes."

"Oh, okay. Boys are there," she said pointing, to a section on the floor before turning slightly, "and girls are there. Shoes are in between."

Steve nodded was about to thank her when he had to dodge quickly to his right and nearly into Natasha in order to avoid getting run down by a shopping cart. "Slow down, David!" the mother called after the boy who looked to be about eight; she had children attached to both of her hands and hurriedly apologized to Steve before chasing down her oldest.

"Forget work," Natasha whispered while trying to keep a horrified expression from her face, "_this_ is going to cause my blood pressure to skyrocket."

"We can go, if you need to," he told her, concern in his voice. "There are other places on the list."

"No, we're already here. Let's just get this over with."

Together, they moved towards the apparel section of the store. "Should we start with shoes?" he asked.

"If we're following the Pepper Potts Theory of Building a Closet, then yes."

When they arrived in the shoe section, they froze once again. "So many choices. For babies," Steve commented.

Natasha nodded slowly in agreement. "We did not adequately prepare for this."

"So, ten outfits. That doesn't mean ten pairs of shoes, right?"

"She's not getting a pair of shoes for each outfit until she's paying for her own wardrobe," Natasha replied.

Steve reached out to his left, picked up a display tennis shoe sized for a newborn, and placed it in his flattened hand. It barely took up a fourth of the area of his palm. As he stared down at it, the hint of a wistful smile crossed his face. It was a look of happy awe that Natasha witnessed a couple of times before—when she showed him the first barely-there signs of a bump, and when he felt the baby move against him for the first time.

But for Natasha, all she could see was size, or lack thereof. All she saw was impossibly tiny feet that couldn't run for safety or kick someone away in self-defense. All her mind showed her was a child so small that it was weak, defenseless, and incredibly soft and fragile.

The worry must have been plainly written on her face because as soon as Steve looked at her, he quickly sat the shoe down and gently took hold of her arm. His thumb rubbed small circles on her bicep. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, eyes darting every now and again to make sure the other customers weren't picking up on what was going on between the two of them.

"She's going to be so small." Anxiety once more crept into Natasha's chest and settled itself around her lungs.

Steve gave her his best reassuring half-grin he could muster. "Well, then it's a good thing she's going to be surrounded by a bunch of super heroes."

Natasha nodded and looked away. She closed her eyes and took a centering breath. She didn't tell him how she wasn't sure that would even matter, that they might not be able to stop something. And she didn't tell him how she'd had three dreams already that once her daughter was born, she would shrink away until she disappeared completely in a heap of baby blankets and Natasha couldn't find her anywhere.

"Mission parameters," Steve reminded her gently.

"Ten outfits," she replied.

"Okay, ready to get started?"

She looked back up at him and gave a sharp nod. They began to slowly make their way down the aisle, noting the various styles available. "Nothing pink," Natasha commented.

Steve gave her a skeptical look. "I don't think we really have that option," he answered, nodding his head at the shoes the store offered, all with one color in common.

Natasha frowned slightly. "Well, as little pink as possible. And nothing that sparkles."

"Got it. So, dress shoes? Tennis shoes? Sandals?"

"She won't be walking in them before she outgrows them probably." Natasha paused and thought about it. "Or will she?"

"I don't think so? I haven't gotten that far along in research yet."

They were brought out of their discussion by a woman snickering behind them. "Sorry," she got out while trying to hold in her laughter. "I just find first-time parents to be hilarious."

Natasha wanted to take offense to the comment, but the other woman—the other very pregnant woman—had kindness written all over her face.

"I don't mean to laugh. I'm sorry," the stranger went on to explain. "Do you guys want some help?"

"Please," Steve immediately answered, relief evident in his tone of voice.

"Don't worry about buying too many clothes. You'll get more than the kid could ever wear from the baby shower. You only need two or three pairs of shoes, but a crapload of socks, mostly because you will constantly be losing them." She paused to gauge the roundness of Natasha's stomach. "When are you due, chica?"

Natasha felt the familiar hesitation in giving complete strangers information they thought they were privy to. "Beginning of September," she replied.

The woman gave her a small smile and nodded. "A jacket might not be a bad idea. Something with zippers, nothing that you have to put on over their heads. They hate that. Probably gives them flashbacks to birth canals or something."

Steve nodded as he internalized the information. "So this isn't your first?" he asked with a nod toward the stranger's midsection.

"No, this is number four. We have a thirteen-year-old, an eleven-year-old, the surprise two-year-old, and this is someone for him to play with. And then we are _done_. Was I right? This your first?"

"Yes," Steve answered softly with just a hint of pride.

"Congratulations. I—" Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by cries of "Mamá! Mamá! Mamá!"

A young boy with tan skin and shiny black hair that matched his mother's came flying down the aisle with a stuffed animal in his hands. Behind him, his father (at least Natasha assumed) trailed after, keeping a close eye on the running toddler. "I found _elefante_ for _bebé_," he announced, holding up the toy for his mother's approval. His brown eyes then fell on Natasha and Steve and grew impossibly wide. One hand dropped its hold on the stuffed toy to point at the couple. "Abenders," he breathed.

The woman rolled her eyes and reached down to put her hand over her son's. "Miguel, don't point at people. It's rude."

The father stepped forward with a grimace. "Sorry, he's a little obsessed with the Avengers right now. He thinks any woman with red hair is Black Widow."

"It's okay," Natasha answered. "We get that a lot."

The boy turned to scowl at his traitorous father before growling "Abenders" once more, emphasizing each syllable.

His father rolled his eyes and hushed the boy quiet while picking him up. He turned to his wife. "You ready? Because God knows I am."

"Yeah, fine. I think I got everything," she answered before looking back at Steve and Natasha. "You two going to be okay? At least for shopping?"

"Yes," Natasha answered. "Thank you for your help."

"No problem," she answered before the three made their way down the aisle.

The boy looked over his father shoulder and stretched a hand out in Steve's direction. "Cap!" he called out mournfully.

Steve's eyes darted around to see who was paying attention around them. Satisfied no one was, he threw a wink at the kid while putting his index finger over his lips and then gave the toddler a little two-fingered salute. The child's face broke out into a grin, and he furiously waved goodbye before his father turned the corner.

Natasha looked up at Steve and shook her head. "Sucker."

He shrugged before turning back to the shoes. His eyes swept over the shelves until they fell on a pair of tennis shoes. He picked them up and held them out for her inspection. They were mostly white with hot pink soles. Natasha initially found the thought of them ridiculous. Why would a newborn need a pair of sneakers?

But then again, this whole scenario was ridiculous: Natasha being pregnant at all, the fact that her daughter was also herself, settling down with someone, and having that someone be Steve Rogers of all people. Her life was a giant ball of ridiculousness—why not keep up the theme? "Sure," she answered. And just like that, the first piece of their mission was accomplished.

They then moved onto socks, where they grabbed a couple dozen plain white ones (if they lost one, it would be easy to forge a new match, Natasha reasoned). Steve talked her into a few more colorful sets, including one bunch that looked like Mary Jane black shoes would be covering the baby's feet, as well as a couple of pairs that had what looked like ballet slippers stitched into the socks.

As they gathered the ten actual outfits, Natasha caught Steve pausing in front of a rack offering a variety of long, white, lacy gowns. He reached out and gently ran his fingers along the eyelet hem of one of them as Natasha walked up behind him. "Little dressy, don't you think?" she asked.

"It a christening gown," he answered. She knit her eyebrows together at him. She'd heard the term, but wasn't sure exactly what it meant. "It's a thing we do at church." He paused and worked his jaw a moment before turning to face her. "I know I don't have a lot of room to ask for things. She's yours, and I'm just happy you're letting me tag along, but I would really appreciate it if we could have her christened."

She turned the thought over in her head. Religion had never held a place in her life, and she'd never felt a desire to seek it out. She knew Steve went to Mass on Sundays whenever he could, and he'd even managed to take them all to a midnight Christmas service. "I'm not supposed to be going to Mass with your or anything, am I?"

"No, not unless you want to," he answered, his face showing his nervousness at asking his request.

"What does this christening thing require?" she asked, her own eyes falling on the selection of white gowns.

"Reading some verses, sprinkling the baby with water, naming godparents," he answered.

She rubbed the thin material of one of the frilly dresses between her fingers a moment before looking back at him. "Let me think about it, okay?"

His shoulders dropped in relief at her answer. "Of course," he answered with a small grin. He looked at the mesh store bag Natasha had slung on her shoulder. "Mission accomplished?"

"Affirmative. Now let's please get out of here before I have yet another child run past screaming at the top of their lungs."


	19. Chapter 19

**NOTES: **Thanks, per usual, to **the_wordbutler** for helping me with the words.

* * *

The end of May saw the first full week of Natasha taking a reduced schedule at SHIELD. So far that seemed to mean harassing junior agents, which pleased Natasha's sadistic side; she was put in charge of running routine interviews where agents were given hypothetical situations as part of their bi-annual review process. The test showed how well SHIELD personnel could talk their way out of no-win scenarios. She had yet to make an agent cry, but the week was only halfway over.

She caught a familiar scent of aftershave just before Phil sat down next to her in the commissary at headquarters. "I hear the janitorial crew's had to clean up a number of urine puddles the last couple of days," he commented as he placed his napkin in his lap and stabbed at his salad with a fork.

She grinned at him. "You're just jealous you're not in charge of it this time around."

He shrugged, but she saw the corner of his mouth tip up in the barest of smiles. "Have you completely broken any one?"

"Not yet, but I've still got time."

"Please tell me you haven't used your pregnancy as a means to throw them off during the interviews."

"Only once," she answered, which caused Phil to give her a disapproving look he usually only saved for Clint and Tony. "What? Faking contractions was the only way I could throw him off his game."

"The point of the exercise isn't to scare them to death."

"It kind of is," she countered.

He conceded with a shrug. "Fine, but no more using your condition."

"Only if you never say the word 'condition' again."

"Deal." He paused to eat another couple bites of his salad. "If you want to take a break from that, we're running drills tomorrow. I'd appreciate having an extra set of eyes."

"Sure that won't send Steve into a fit?"

"I'll make sure you're sitting comfortably the whole time and that it's the only thing on your schedule tomorrow. He can come to me if he has an issue."

"As long as I don't have to deal with his puppy-dog-disappointment face, fine with me. What are the drills for?"

"What do you think?"

Her mind went back to the battle with the unknown drones from a few weeks ago. "How are you going to manage that?"

"Tech is building model for scenarios on how to deal with military formations. With a few exceptions, most of the fights the Avengers have been involved in were against either one large target or swarms of semi-coordinated enemies. Most of the team isn't used to doing battle with actual soldiers."

Natasha's mind flashed back to the video recordings from Tony's helmet. She'd had the series of images memorized for weeks now. "Tell the techs to factor in an algorithm that can allow for hive mind interactions."

His eyebrows rose slightly at the suggestion. "You think so?"

She nodded. "Their movements were too coordinated and at too quick a rate for anything else."

He paused to eat another bite of his lunch while mulling over her theory. "There's nothing organic to them. Could be they're remotely controlled by something or someone."

She shook her head. "From where? It would take a huge signal to carry to here from wherever they came from."

Phil shrugged in response. "Or someone is sneaking on to the ground with them."

"Did Stark's suit pick up any signals that could verify something like that?" Natasha asked.

"If it did, I haven't seen anything in the reports about it, and he hasn't mentioned it." He shrugged. "Talk to Stark and Banner about it." He checked his watch. "I've got another meeting. Training center tomorrow at ten if you want to join."

* * *

The next morning, Natasha sat in the glass booth that overlooked the training deck with Phil. The expansive floor at SHIELD headquarters provided a space to run drills. The team could run and fly around and destroy targets without the city throwing fits about collateral damage.

Three dozen robotic soldiers were frozen in formation on the floor. They didn't necessarily look like the drones the team faced in battle weeks ago, but they'd been programmed to behave similarly. The real reason for the exercise wasn't so much to ready themselves for battle against the drones specifically, but rather to prepare for an enemy that fought as a unit. The team needed to ready themselves on how to go up against a foe that used military formations and troop mindset. Not since the Battle of New York had they truly faced an army.

Obviously, two of the team's members were used to those kinds of foes. But one was out searching the galaxy for answers, which just left Steve. To help accommodate things, Carol Danvers and her military experience was brought in. Tony had made talks of calling in his pal Rhodey to further aide, but the Air Force hadn't granted the man a leave on such short notice.

There was always some debate as to whether or not The Other Guy would participate in training. The team usually felt a little guilty forcing Bruce to give up his identity when there wasn't a real threat around, and so far it looked like there wasn't too much the universe could throw at the Hulk that would truly serve as a challenge. But the scientist reassured the others that he didn't mind and would feel better if he knew he was helping the others prepare.

Natasha looked down at the green being and flashed back to her nightmare of watching the drones pick off her teammates one by one. While Phil announced over the speaker system how sensors would let them know when they would've received a debilitating or kill shot and how to exit the simulation at that point, Natasha started digging through Bruce's files, pulling up the series of scans he ran on himself the evening Loki made his attack. She clearly remembered him running a series of tests on himself when his mind had been stuck in The Other Guy's body, but she wasn't sure exactly what Bruce had scanned himself for. She flipped through pages of data, but couldn't totally make sense of what she was looking at.

"The bullet, at least the type that wound up in Rogers's shoulder, can't penetrate the Hulk's skin; Doctor Banner already researched it," Phil said with his uncanny ability to read the thoughts of his assets.

"Doesn't mean something else won't."

Phil shrugged. "It would take a lot of power and effort."

She flipped through the pages of Bruce's file a moment longer, trying to reassure herself before she and Coulson turned their focus on the scene laid out below them. Clint was perched up on a ledge in the back left corner of the large room. Steve took point with the Hulk a few yards behind him; Tony hovered in the air just to their right, Carol mirroring his position to the left.

Phil keyed in a numerical code and the simulation came to life. Natasha listened to Steve bellow out orders as movement started. The first drill lasted twelve minutes before all the practice drones were immobilized. None of the team received any significant injury, and instead, some of them were looking up at the booth with an expression that approached insult for going so easy on them.

Ignoring the injury to his assets' pride, Phil punched in another scenario that would fall under easy mode once everything was ready to go again. It took three minutes longer than the first round.

"Think they're warmed up?" Phil asked.

Natasha smirked back. "Don't break them."

"I would never do such a thing. At least not before lunch."

And on the day went. With each round, Phil ratcheted up the challenges and variables thrown at the team. If a weakness was revealed, Phil made sure the next scenario program would press in hard on the failure until a solution was devised. Occasionally, he'd let Natasha throw in suggestions. Her third piece of input was to have the drones focus on an individual until the targeted team member was neutralized before moving on to someone else instead of attacking everyone at once. She was internally pleased to see that the team fared better in the practice than they had in her nightmare. Clint was neutralized, Steve and Tony greatly disabled, but at least it wasn't a complete loss.

Natasha eased back into her chair and watched them continue to drill, writing down notes here and there. She tried to convince herself that she was blowing things out of proportion. The team had fought an army before, as well as dozens of others hell-bent on wreaking havoc, but it was the first serious threat since Natasha had been pulled from active duty. While she trusted the abilities and strengths of the members of the team, she still had yet to convince herself that they wouldn't be a little bit safer without her fighting with them.

She especially felt that whenever she focused her attention on Steve. Not because of the life they'd fallen into together, although that did count for part of it, but rather because of tactics. The two of them were traditionally considered the ground units of the Initiative. It was easy for her to spot the signs of fatigue in his gait as she watched him issue orders on the floor.

"You need someone else to stay on the ground."

Phil nodded his agreement. "That's the hard part about recruiting alien hybrids, billionaire engineers, and demigods—once they get a taste of flying, they never want to stick around on the ground for long."

She reached over and grabbed a tablet. Opening the files of SHIELD personnel, she began hunting for possible candidates. "Any word on where Rand and Cage stand?"

"Not anything strong enough for Fury's liking."

"Where's Morse?"

"Mission. She's operating undercover for at least two months."

"How happy is Clint about that?"

Phil gave a non-committal shrug as an answer. "He has enough exes around not to find too much relief one being gone, even if it's the one he married."

"And how do _you_ feel about _that_?"

He paused to key in a few tweaks in the current simulation before answering. "I knew what I was getting into."

"That's barely an answer."

He nodded. "I know, but it's not my opinion on exes you're worried about right now, is it?" Natasha chewed on the inside of her bottom lip a moment before answering, and her eyes drifted to Clint hunkered down in the corner of the room, bow and arrows tracking targets. "Your turn to answer a no-win hypothetical situation: both Barton and Rogers are in mortal peril, but you can only save one. Who do you rescue?"

She raised a single eyebrow at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. Who do you pick?"

She rolled the question around in her mind a bit before answering, "I don't know."

Phil nodded. "Good."

"Why is that good?"

"Because you had to think about it. Because one name wasn't the clear frontrunner. If you'd immediately said Clint, I would be concerned that you're using Captain Rogers."

"And if I'd answered Steve without hesitation?"

"I'd start looking for signs of brainwashing. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you care about him, but I'm also sure you're not at the point where you'd pick him without a second thought."

Their conversation was interrupted by a tapping sound on the window. Tony floated in the air, a bored expression on his face. "When you two are done giving each other manicures, the rest of us would like to finish this up so we can go home."

* * *

After a group dinner to discuss strategies and action plans, Natasha followed Steve up to his quarters. He sat in the corner of the couch, sketchbook balanced on the arm; she was settled on her side, her head in his lap. Using the sound of the baseball game he'd turned on and the scratching of pencil on paper, she tried to shut her brain down from reviewing the drills. Phil's words to her were bouncing around in her mind, too, and all Natasha wanted was some peace.

She rolled onto her back with a sigh and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"What do you do when you can't get your brain to shut off?"

He paused in his drawing, the end of the pencil starting to tap against the notebook softly. "Draw, go for a ride on my bike, punch things."

"I can't draw, pretty sure I'm not allowed on a motorcycle right now, and I'm not allowed to punch things because I prefer the things I punch to be people. Even though that sounds really nice." She sat up and looked over at his notebook. "What are you sketching?" She reached out to grab the pages, but his reflexes were quicker.

"It's a surprise." She quirked an eyebrow up at his answer. "I'm going to have to hide this now, aren't I?"

"You can try."

The chuckle in his throat died when her lips pressed against his. He gave in to the kiss for a moment before pulling away. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to figure you out."

"I thought you were bored and looking for a distraction."

She shrugged. "Do you have a problem with me multitasking?"

He considered the question for a second before giving a quick shake of his head and pulling her back in.

She let go of thought as best she could and gave into instinct and muscle memory. Looking for a more comfortable position, she attempted to drape her leg on the other side of him and end up in his lap; it was a less than graceful maneuver. She pulled away with a quiet curse in her native tongue.

"What's wrong?" he asked as the hand that rested on her hip slid over to her stomach.

"I need you to know that I'm normally better at this."

He smiled at her. "I can live with awkward. Nice to know you'll be brought down to my level."

She scoffed at him. "I'm not going to be _that_ bad."

His hand moved from her stomach to her back and pulled her against him. They enjoyed lazy kisses and getting to know each other with roaming fingertips, flattened palms, and parted lips. Natasha gave into letting her brain be run by instinct and hormones that she'd kept at bay as best as she could.

She pulled away a bit later and gave a small smile at how his mouth chased hers. Once he opened his eyes, looking at her with a heat that made her senses buzz, she raised an eyebrow as a silent question.

"You sure?" he breathed.

"That I want you to see me naked when I'm getting fatter by the second? That I have to figure out the best way to have sex with this attached to the front of me? Not really. But," she added strongly, "I'm willing to give awkward pregnancy sex a go if you are. Besides," she continued and paused to run her fingernails along his scalp, "I've always wondered just how long marks will stay on your skin."

His eyes fluttered shut at her touch and words, and she watched his Adam's apple bob. Leaning forward, she began to kiss her way down his throat and his voice hummed against her lips. "You're sure?" he repeated. "I mean it's safe and everything?"

"I'm sure," she answered as she rose from his lap. "Are you?"

* * *

It was her cellphone that woke her in the middle of the night. The ringtone told her it was a message coming from headquarters. With a moan, she untangled herself from Steve's limbs and began to sleepily look around the room. Once she located the pants she'd worn the day before, she dug her phone out of the pocket.

"Everything okay?" Steve mumbled.

"Thor landed in New Mexico an hour ago. He and his companions should be here in six hours."

"Companions?"

She shrugged even though she wasn't sure he could see it in the dark. "Doesn't specify."

"Hmm," he replied. "Come back to bed."

"In a minute. Might as well pee since I'm already up and save myself from waking up again in an hour."

Once she settled back into bed, it took no time for him to wrap an arm around her and gently pull her back against his chest. "You okay?" he asked before nuzzling against her neck.

"Mmm-hmm."

"You sure?"

"Steve, I'm going to knee you if you ask me that again."

She felt his hips roll slightly away from her before he mumbled an apology.

When they woke again five hours later, she groaned in disgust at JARVIS reminding them of the Asgardian's impending arrival. "Do we really have to be there the second he gets back?" she asked to no one in particular.

"I'll stay in bed, if you will," he said as he began to kiss his way down her shoulder. His fingers began to roam over her chest; he kept his touch light, mindful of her complaints about being sore and swollen.

She was about to sigh an agreement to his idea when his hand jerked away from her. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Um, you're… leaking."

Her hand quickly moved to replace his, and groaned in embarrassment when her fingertips came away damp. She grabbed a pillow and held it over her face before pulling the sheets completely over her body and trying to disappear in her mortification. "I need you to go. Just go. Don't look at me, forget this ever happened, and just go."

"Natasha—"

"You're not listening—just go."

"Natasha, these are my quarters."

"I don't care, get out."

A knock from the entrance to the quarters interrupted them. "JARVIS," Steve asked, "who's at the door?"

"Agent Barton," the AI answered.

Natasha felt the sheets move and the pillow being pulled away from her face and she looked up to see Steve had a mischievous glint in his eye. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Answering the door," he replied as he used the pillow to protect his modesty since the rest of him was still naked.

"Fantastic," Natasha said aloud in the now-empty bedroom. "Leaking breasts and a pissing contest. This is exactly what I wanted to wake up to this morning." She climbed out of bed and began to dress. By the time Steve came back into the room, she was pulling up her pants and getting ready to find her shoes.

"Everything alright?" he asked. She gave him a quick glare in response. "Natasha—"

"I'm not in the mood to be the rope for whatever tug of war game of machismo you and Clint want to play."

He grimaced at her words. "I'm sorry, but—"

"I don't want to hear it. Not right now." She slipped on her shoes and turned back to him. He looked slightly ridiculous standing there naked, pillow still covering himself, and his face showing his embarrassment. "Look, I only have so much room for man-children in my life, and Clint and Stark currently fill my quota. Don't stoop to their level."

He nodded. "Sorry I let my ego get in the way."

"It happens." She crossed to the floor and steadied herself by grasping his arms while going up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "Just try not to give into the temptation next time. I need a shower. I'll meet you guys down in the parking garage when I'm done."

"Actually that's what Barton came to talk about—Thor's going to meet us here. He and his friends will be down in the common floor in an hour."

"Clint couldn't've texted that?"

Steve shrugged. "Sorry about that," he apologized again.

"Steve, it's fine." She paused to let her gaze fall on his torso. "Just know that it's more effective if you pull that stunt before the marks I left on you fade away." She smiled as a blush crept its way over his body.


	20. Chapter 20

**NOTES: **Per usual, thanks to the_wordbutler for helping me get my words in order.

* * *

An hour after leaving Steve's quarters, Natasha made her way to the common floor. The only ones not present when she arrived were Steve, Phil, and Tony. "Rogers drew the short straw," Bruce explained when she reached the breakfast bar to snag a muffin and an orange.

"How long has Tony been holed up in his lab?"

"Only forty-two hours," the scientist answered.

"We have coffee on standby, right?"

"An entire pot, just for him."

"Please tell me there's an entire pot just for me, too," said an unfamiliar voice to Natasha's right. She looked over to find a bleary-eyed brunette whose glasses were almost crooked on her face and whose clothes were a mishmash of a rumpled graphic tee, a scarf, sweatpants, and mismatched socks.

"You could've slept on the plane," replied another brunette behind the first one. This one Natasha recognized—Jane Foster.

The new girl rolled her eyes. "I was too busy being scared for my life."

"I was unaware you possessed a fear of flight," Thor said from his seat next to Jane at the long dining table, concern evident on his face.

"I'm only scared of flying when a god is determined to spend as much of the flight as possible being an enthusiastic member of the Mile High Club," the stranger answered.

Jane blushed and Thor looked confused, but before she could explain what the phrase meant, Tony's voice interrupted the conversation.

"I'm so glad I let you borrow my own personal jet to come here."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Stark, because I'm sure you've never had sex on your own plane."

"Of course I have," he scoffed as he made his way towards the coffee machine with the _TONY ONLY_ post-it note on it. "But it's my plane." He paused to point at Thor. "We're going to need to cover some more ground rules of how to treat other people's stuff, specifically mine. Remember how I said don't touch my stuff? That includes the notion of 'don't touch my stuff with your junk.'"

Natasha heard booted footfalls enter the room a second before Darcy gasped. "Holy mother of Dumbledore, is everything about you super? For the record—I'd be happy to investigate."

"Darcy!" Jane hissed.

Natasha followed this Darcy's line of vision to see Steve standing in the middle of it, giving a polite but confused smile. "I don't really know who Dumbledore is, but thank you?"

"How can you not know who Dumbledore is?" Darcy asked in horrified tone.

"He was an ice cube for seventy years," Tony answered.

"Yeah, but he's been out for like a year. That's twelve whole months. No one's shoved a Harry Potter book in his direction?" She paused to turn back to Steve. "Who is responsible for your education? Because I volunteer as tribute. You probably don't get that joke, either, which is a shame because it's a good one."

"Careful," Tony warned before pointing at Natasha. "He's taken."

Darcy turned to look at her. Her eyes quickly fell to Natasha's stomach and her jaw dropped open. "Black Widow is Captain America's baby mama?" she asked loudly before placing her palms at her temples. "I think my brain just broke."

"Then why don't you take it to your quarters and let it recover?" Phil announced as he strode into the room with a mug in one hand and files tucked under his arm.

Darcy turned to glare at the agent. "I don't take orders from you, thief."

Phil let out a patented sigh. "Miss Lewis, your iPod was returned to you undamaged. Now, if you don't mind, we have some business to discuss, and you're not cleared to hear about this intel."

"C'mon, Darce," Jane said laying a hand on the other woman's arm, "let's go unpack."

"Fine," Darcy muttered. She was halfway out of the room when she turned and looked back at Phil. "Just so you know, I still have my taser."

"And I still have mine, which is bigger than yours," he replied.

Darcy puffed her chest out with pride. "Yeah, but you still weren't able to take down Thor. Unlike me."

Phil rolled his eyes as the ladies left.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his face drawn together in concentration. "She took you down?" he asked, looking at Thor.

The larger man nodded with a look that was a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

"How come we've never heard that story?" Bruce said with a hint of a smile on his face.

"We'll have to save it for another time," Phil cut in, his tone of voice making it clear that it was business time. He turned to the Asgardian. "Care to share with everyone what you've already told me?"

Thor's face assumed a solemn expression. He stood from the dining table and abandoned his half-eaten breakfast to pace along the width of the open space. "I took the sample from the projectile the drones fired into Captain Rogers's shoulder back to Asgard. There, the material was identified as—" Whatever word he said didn't carry all that well through his All Speak and sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a grunt.

The alien continued with his pacing, and Natasha watched his fingertips twitched. A part of her wondered where Mjolnir was, since it was a habit of Thor's to toss the hammer back and forth between his hands when he was upset by something.

"Once the material was named, I travelled to the mining colony where it originated with the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif."

"Are we supposed to know what that means?" Tony stage-whispered to Bruce.

"They're Thor's companions back on Asgard," Phil answered. "Please, continue," he requested.

Thor nodded and returned to his story. "Once we arrived, the five of us learned that the metal was purchased by a species known as the Garfairians. They are an alien race who have made home far from here. But the weapons they craft are known for their eloquence."

Natasha heard Clint snort at the descriptor. She knew the man held great respect for weaponry and could quickly find beauty in tools of destruction, just not necessarily when they were being aimed at him or his friends.

"How big is their army?" Steve asked.

Thor shook his head. "They do not have one; they do not seek combat."

"Then why are they building weapons?" she asked.

"It is a form of art to them," Thor answered with a shrug. "Much like the painters and sculptors of Midgard strive to find something of priceless beauty, as do the Garfairians." He paused to turn to Tony. "Surely you, friend Stark, can understand that way of thinking."

Tony gave a small, reluctant nod before asking, "So what do they want with us?"

"Even though the weapons are seen as art, there are still those who purchase the items."

Bruce shook his head. "Yeah, but I don't think they're collecting museum pieces."

Thor paused in his pacing. "Like any other culture, the Garfairians require a means of currency. This is their source of well-being. And to ensure that their creations are worth the cost they charge, they must be tested."

"Against us," Steve commented.

"Against a valiant foe," Thor answered. "We have apparently made a name for ourselves, and that is something you should be proud of."

Clint gave him a look of disbelief before turning towards Tony. "Hey, Stark? When you were designing weapons, how did you know they were ready to go to market?"

"When they completely obliterated everything I aimed them at," he easily answered.

Clint twisted back toward Thor and raised both his eyebrows at him. Realization dawned on Thor's face before he grimaced. "I now understand your trepidations."

"Did you find out who the buyers were for the weapons we faced?" Phil asked.

"I fear not," Thor responded. "I returned to Midgard as soon as we found their original source. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif vowed to continue the search and return here once they heard word of our foes."

Phil grimaced. "I should probably go talk to Fury and let him know we should be expecting more Asgardians."

"These buddies of yours aren't going to go crazy and try and take over the world, right? Is that a common Asgardian thing?" Tony asked.

Thor gave him a stern look. "Nay, they would not do such a thing."

Tony raised his hands in defense. "Just asking. Always be prepared and all that Girl Scout stuff."

"Boy Scout," Bruce corrected.

"Really? Huh." Tony paused to drink from his third mugful of coffee. "Well now that I've said Girl Scout, I want cookies. Do we have any cookies around here? Thin Mints? JARVIS, is there a secret stash I don't know about?"

Bruce shot him a look. "Are you sleep-deprived or high right now?"

"My younger days think it's cute how you classified those two things as being mutually exclusive."

"If that's all," Phil cut in with a look to Thor.

The Asgardian gave a large smile. "Jane has agreed to move to New York. SHIELD has offered her a position working once again with Doctor Selvig."

There were murmurs of congratulations around the room before Clint asked, "What about Darcy?"

"She will remain as Jane's loyal assistant."

Clint smirked at Phil. "You gonna let her keep her taser if she's working in a SHIELD facility?"

The handler sighed. "One battle at a time."

"And where will these women be living?" Tony asked. "Because adding roommates to your floor is something you should discuss with your landlord." He paused to shoot a pointed look in Steve and Natasha's direction. She flipped him off.

"I had not considered this. The Lady Jane will live with me. Darcy is most welcome, too."

"Have you asked Jane if she wants to live with you?" Natasha asked. Thor shook his head. "You might want to do that first instead of just telling her. Midgardian women aren't huge fans of that."

Thor nodded. "Thank you for the advice."

"If there's nothing else?" Phil asked. When the group stayed silent, he nodded. "Alright then. We're done for now. Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone." Once others started milling around, Natasha saw Phil elbow Clint and give a nod in her direction.

Clint ambled over as Phil left the room to get on the elevator. "So," he started while scratching his neck once he came to stand in front of Natasha and Steve, "Phil was wondering if you guys wanted to come over for dinner tonight."

"Just Phil?" Natasha asked.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Both of us. That's why I came in person to talk you this morning, but I apparently forget to ask things when Captain America is standing there wearing only a pillow."

"Sorry about that," Steve muttered.

Clint waved him off. "Been there, done that. Judgment-free zone, man. So, seven-thirty okay with you guys? We'd do it earlier, but Phil has meetings until then."

"As long as you're cooking, it's fine," Natasha answered.

Clint nodded. "Figured the kid wanted a break from takeout, so yes, I'll be cooking." His eyes went towards Natasha's stomach, and a corner of his mouth kicked up while Natasha noticed the fingertips of his left hand gave a small twitch—his tell for refraining from touch. He gave his head a little shake. "See you guys then? Double date?"

"See you tonight," Steve answered as he watched Clint leave. He then leaned in towards Natasha. "Why do I feel like this is a test?"

"Because it probably is."

* * *

Natasha came home from another day of scaring junior agents in their biannual reviews to change out of her office garb into a gray v-neck t-shirt and black yoga pants. She didn't even worry about footwear for the dinner that night. She was only traveling one floor up, and she had zero chances of being called out on an op or rescue, so what was the point? She'd barely finished changing when JARVIS let her know that Steve was at the door.

"Let him in," she responded.

She heard him call her name, and she gave her location from the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth. Once she was finished, she walked out to her bedroom to see him sitting on her bed. He was in his traditional plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki pants, and boots.

"You do know it's almost June, don't you?" she asked. "Why are you still wearing long sleeves, pants, and boots?"

He shrugged. "Still feels nice to be too warm instead of freezing. You need to change?"

She looked down at herself. "I just did."

"Oh."

Natasha shrugged. "It's just dinner with Phil and Clint; if Barton is wearing pants at all, he's going to consider himself dressed up." She then remembered Clint's parting words from that morning and sighed. "I don't really do the whole date thing. Not that well, at least."

He gave her a half-smile. "Neither do I. I'm pretty awful at it, in fact. But I have had my fair share of double dates."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "And if things follow tradition, Clint will end up with both you and Phil by the time the evening is over."

"Not going to happen."

"Good, because I was hoping the evening would end differently than that, too."

She raised a single eyebrow in his direction. "Oh? And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Natasha expected a blush to creep up his neck, not the look of heat he sent her. She felt her nerves begin to buzz at the sight and walked over to him, her fingers brushing away the lock of blond hair that had a habit of falling over his forehead. "One night and you automatically take me to be a sure thing?" She shook her head while clicking her tongue at him. "Dangerous assumption to make, Rogers."

He shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but JARVIS interrupted whatever he was going to say.

"My apologies for the intrusion," the AI stated, "but Agent Barton is inquiring as to why the two of you have not arrived yet."

Natasha's eyes turned to the ceiling. "How heavily did you have to edit that message?"

"Severely, Agent Romanoff. But such an action is a protocol I'm well familiar with when relaying messages for Mister Stark."

"Tell him to quit his bitching, we're leaving now. And don't worry about making that sound polite."

They made their way to the little hallway that separated the entrance from Natasha's quarters from the elevator. While they waited, Steve looked over at her. "How's the… umm…" he trailed off as he pointed to his own chest.

"There's no way I'm discussing that with you."

She was pretty sure she heard a tiny sigh of relief at her response.

After ascending a floor and signaling their arrival, Clint yelled for them to come in. He was in the kitchen wearing a faded purple t-shirt and a pair of ratty jeans. Like Natasha, he was barefoot, but she was certain his boots would be close at hand in case he was called out for the evening. "Hey," he greeted, "Phil should be here in ten." He paused to point at a pile of vegetables. "You're on salad duty," he ordered.

Natasha moved to the bar and perched herself on a stool before grabbing the knife to begin slicing the tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots. She picked up the red onion in front her and set it arm's length away with a thud. "No," she proclaimed.

Clint turned from his position in front of the stove and pouted his bottom lip. "Can't it be on the side?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I thought you were over the onion thing."

"I'm fine with onions. The parasite within me has other ideas."

Clint went up on his toes to look over the raised counter at Natasha's stomach. "Kid, I'm going to need to educate you on a few things."

"That's terrifying," Natasha shot back.

"Do you want eat good food tonight or not?"

"Fine." She peered around him to inspect the pots on the stove. "Pasta and red sauce?"

He nodded. "Sauce's been simmerin' all day. Lots of wine, as God intended."

Steve gave him a hard look. "Wine?"

Clint waved him off. "Alcohol burns off. It's fine."

Steve's jaw worked back and forth for a moment, but he didn't say anything more about it. Instead, he turned and looked at Natasha. "I thought you didn't cook."

"She doesn't," Clint answered. "At all. Burning a pot of water would be a step up for her, but her knife skills are awesome. She makes a great prep bi—person." Natasha smirked at Clint's last-second correction for her usual title in his kitchen.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Steve asked.

"Phil's had a rough day, so if you could stand there and look pretty when he walks in—"

"Clint," Natasha warned.

"Spoilsport," he muttered her direction. "Uh, can you set the table?"

"Sure," Steve answered before rummaging in cabinets for plates and glasses.

They each worked on their tasks in relative silence, the only sound being Clint humming under his breath. Natasha was only familiar with the melody because she'd heard him hum it before in various places: reading reports, on a plane en route to an op, on the shooting range.

His song was interrupted when Phil walked into the quarters, phone still at his ear. "I don't care what he said, I have more seniority than he does. Just make sure it gets done," he snapped before disconnecting from the conversation. He walked into the kitchen with a sigh and snuck a quick kiss onto Clint's cheek before moving to the fridge and pulling out a beer.

"That good of a day, huh?" Natasha asked.

"I'll trade being pregnant with you if you go to my meetings," he answered.

"Tempting, but no."

Clint turned again to look at her. "You really like being pregnant?"

"I really like not having to go to his meetings." She shrugged. "Depends on the time of day how much I loathe being pregnant. My feelings towards it are getting worse by the week."

"My sisters always said the second trimester was the easiest for them," Phil commented.

She turned to Steve. "If that's true, you may want to rethink spending so much time around me." Natasha caught a look of concern from her handler, and she shook her head. "It hasn't been awful, but I haven't been feeling great either."

Phil gave her a small nod, seemingly content enough with her answer. He sat his beer down on the counter and announced he was going to change before moving off towards the bedroom.

"You're still happy about getting a kid, though, right?" Clint asked her quietly.

She saw Steve stutter in his motion of placing silverware at each setting and knew he'd heard the question, too. She paused to consider her words. "I guess. I mean it's still weird to think about. Little over three months and I'll be a—" Her tongue froze on the word 'mother.'

Despite everything in her life—her body, her renovated quarters, feeling her child actually move inside of her—she still hadn't quite processed the thought of becoming a parent. She'd never really spent time thinking about how her daughter would perceive her. Mostly because she was terrified of how her child might see her.

She caught Steve gingerly approaching and stopping at her elbow, but she kept her eyes focused on finishing up her prep work. "You have a bowl for all of this?" she asked Clint. He wordlessly handed her the container that already had washed lettuce sitting in it. She dumped the diced veggies on top of the salad and passed it off to Steve. He made sure to brush her fingers with his when he took the bowl and to give her a reassuring, little smile.

That was another future she actively avoided spending time thinking about too much for fear of screwing up his life, too.

She got off her stool as gracefully as possible—which wasn't all that graceful, at least by her typical standards. Making her way to the table, she assumed her usual position. When Steve sat down to her right, she shook her head. "That's Phil's seat."

"He's fine," the handler said as he walked back into the room, now in a faded USMC t-shirt and black sweatpants. "The guests can sit wherever they want."

"Especially when the guest is your beloved Captain America?" Clint asked with a smirk.

Phil rolled his eyes at him before taking the spot to Natasha's left, leaving Clint to sit across from her. Over dinner they discussed their days and the terrifying thought of Darcy Lewis going through SHIELD orientation, which led to a host of stories from a year-and-a-half ago in New Mexico that Natasha had only heard snippets of since she was busy babysitting Stark at the time.

Once their plates were clean, Steve and Phil took care of dishes and putting away leftover food. Clint caught Natasha's eye and quirked his head towards the balcony connected to the open dining and living room. The wind caught her curls when she stepped outside, and she tucked her hair behind her ears. Clint went to the padded bench and she moved to the railing to look at the city before her.

"C'mere," she heard him call a moment after they came outside. She looked over her shoulder in time to catch him patting the seat beside him. Following his request, she took the seat and tucked her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged. He gently bumped her shoulder with his. "Missed you," he admitted quietly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "We see each other almost every day. You live one floor above me."

"Only on the nights where you stay in your quarters," he responded with a waggle of his eyebrows. She half-heartedly gave him a backhand to the chest causing him to laugh before he grew serious again. "Everything okay?"

She shrugged. "It's fine." He gave her a look of doubt, and she shook her head. "Things are going as well as possible."

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, though, wouldn't you? I'm not saying I think something is, just want to make sure."

"Of course I would, idiot."

"Okay, then." He gave a nod towards her stomach. "How's she doing?"

"She has a new habit of punching my ribs; it's delightful."

"It's still so weird," he whispered.

"Try having it attached to you. I figure I might just get used to it by the time she's born. And then a whole other set of readjustments will happen."

He chuckled at the thought. "I can't wait to meet her," he told her quietly.

Natasha grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. "Clone Baby, meet your Uncle Clint. He's an idiot, but we love him anyway."

Clint's thumb rubbed back and forth, and Natasha saw the rest of him go still. And, as Natasha hoped, she felt a punch where his hand rested. Clint swore before he started to laugh. "Will she do it again?"

Natasha shrugged. "She might, just be patient."

"You know he's not good at that unless he has his bow in his hand," Phil said as he and Steve walked out to the balcony.

"True," Natasha responded before pointing at her stomach and giving the handler a look. "Want to give it a try?"

Phil gave a little shrug before squatting on the other side of her and placing a hand on the empty half of her stomach. The four of them waited quietly. Natasha could feel some stirring but it took a minute before the baby moved hard enough for Clint and Phil to feel her. Clint laughed again as Phil stood with a smile before moving to lean with his back along the railing.

"She starting to wake up?" Steve asked her.

Natasha nodded. "Of course she is; I'm starting to feel tired and considering bed."

Clint's hand pulled back. "If you need to go…"

She waved him off. "It's fine. Unless there isn't any dessert, and then I'm definitely leaving."

"We have ice cream in the freezer," Phil answered.

Clint nodded. "There's also pickles in the fridge in case you want to live up to all the pregnancy stereotypes."

She gave him a glare that only lasted a second. "Actually, that does sound kind of good."

"Not together though, right?" Clint asked, a barely-contained look of horror on his face.

"No. Pickles first, then ice cream," she answered. "Then maybe more pickles."


	21. Chapter 21

**NOTES:** the_wordbutler is a fantastic beta, thanks as always goes to her.

* * *

Natasha awoke in a sheen of sweat. Steve had a habit of letting the temperature creep upwards during the night in an effort to remind his unconscious mind that even though he was asleep, there wasn't any ice around. Normally Natasha didn't mind too much, but all the extra weight and blood in her body plus the assortment of pillows she needed to be comfortable made things unbearably hot, even when only wearing a sports bra and underwear and sleeping on top of the sheets. The only upside was that Steve and the team had yet to return from being called to help with a situation in South America two days ago, so she didn't have to fight his body heat in addition to everything else.

She grabbed for her phone and saw that it was just after three in the morning. Despite feeling run down for the last few days, she was certain she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep with great ease. Padding into the kitchen, she opened the freezer and removed a couple of ice cubes to stuff in what little empty space could be found in her bra before grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with more ice cubes and water.

In the middle of downing her second glass, Steve walked in the door. "Why are you awake?" he asked. "And what's happening there?" he asked pointing to the spreading wet spot on the front of her blue sports bra.

"Too hot, thought a couple of ice cubes might help. How did it go?"

He shrugged. "I can now say I've been to Argentina, not that I really had a chance to see anything," he answered as he dropped his bag to the ground and moved toward her. "Apparently overzealous scientists are an international problem." He pressed a kiss to her left temple while ghosting his fingers over her bare stomach before grabbing himself a glass. "How are the two of you?" he asked while pouring a glass of milk.

"Exhausted," she answered. "I'm also now missing my navel and my cheekbones look like they're going to be swallowed whole any day now." She caught him fight a smile and pointed a finger at him. "If you try and tell me I look anything close to pleasing to the eye no matter how big I am, I will hurt you."

He raised his hands in defense before finishing his drink and wiping away his milk mustache with arm. "Temperature the only reason you couldn't sleep? No nightmares or anything?"

She shrugged. "None that I remember."

"I'll readjust the thermostat. Sorry." He paused to rinse out his glass before placing it in the dishwasher. "You know you could've stayed in your own bed."

"Yours is bigger."

He gave her a half-smile. "We could ask Tony to arrange for you to have a bigger one put in on your floor. I'd say we could just go out and get one, but there's no way we could sneak it up without him finding out."

"You want to put in the requisition form, fine. You have fun with that and the mocking you'll get from him."

He shrugged. "I can take him. Why didn't you at least change the thermostat?"

"I kind of forgot that was an option," she answered. "I'm used to be thrown into different environments and places, and rarely am I asked where I would like to bunk. You just get used to where you are and don't complain about it, especially if there's an actual mattress to sleep on."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Well, I'm beat and going to bed. If you want to join me, great. I'll even turn the temperature down."

A few minutes later when they were settled into place, Natasha closed her eyes and tried to force herself back to sleep, but her mind was racing. She listened to Steve's breathing and realized he wasn't kidding about being tired; his respiration had slowed enough for her to know that he was almost asleep but not quite there.

She opened her eyes to look at him on his side in front of her before asking a question that had been bouncing around in her head since their clothes-shopping excursion. "If we were to do that christening thing you talked about, who would you want for godparents?"

"Hmm?"

"Godparents. Who would you pick?"

He flipped onto his back and ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "I'm guessing you'd want Clint as godfather."

"Yes, but I asked who you would want."

He shrugged. "I think I'd pick Phil over Clint, or maybe Bruce. Thor goes planet hopping too often, and there's no way I'd pick Tony."

"I thought the point of godparents was to have someone spoil a kid. Sounds right up Tony's alley."

"It's who the kid is supposed to go to if something happens to the parents."

She leaned up on her elbow to look down at him. "Is that why you want to do this christening thing?" she asked quietly.

"I… not entirely, no. But that might be part of it."

"Well, that's something we have to talk about, too. Phil scheduled me to meet with legal next week so I can update my will and who gets what and all of that. He said guardianship would be part of the discussion. Obviously if something happens to me, I'd have her go to you, but we apparently need back-ups."

He thought about it a moment before offering, "We need to have one of them be someone who isn't on the team. Someone out of harm's way."

"Pepper?"

He shrugged. "She's still been in a pinch a time or two."

"Who else do we know that we trust?"

"No one," he sighed. He rolled back on his side to face her. "We might need new friends."

"I already have enough relationship liabilities as it is. I'm not willing to risk more."

He gave her a soft smile as his left hand reached out and found its way to her stomach. "If we say Barton, is that also going to imply Coulson, too?"

Natasha gave a small nod. "Clint of all people will make sure Phil is there to help out."

"What if they break up?"

"You do remember last summer, don't you? When we all thought Phil was dead? You remember how Clint was completely lost without him? Phil would've been the same way if the tables were turned. They're not going to break up."

He chewed on that for a moment more. "Pepper is the one we should be sure about."

She felt her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I didn't know you had a problem with her."

"No, it's not that. I think she would be fine. It's just that if something were to happen to you during a fight or on a mission, odds are the baby would end up with Pepper."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I know there's no way I'd let you go down before me without a fight, and I know Clint feels the same way."

"I don't need protecting."

"Didn't say you did, but I'd do it anyway. She's going to need one of us, and I think she's going to need you more than me." She opened her mouth to disagree, but his words kept her quiet. "Stop. You're going to be better at this than you think you will. I've never seen you fail at something, and I'm sure you aren't going to start now."

If he questioned her as to why her eyes became wet, she would blame her hormones. If he questioned her about how she leaned into the touch of his knuckles brushing away the tear running down her cheek, she would say she wanted to make sure she didn't have to get up and use a tissue. And she knew he wouldn't question her on either of those things, even though they were lies.

"So Pepper?" she asked, swallowing around the emotions in her throat.

He nodded. "And Clint."

"If you're not comfortable—"

"You wouldn't be comfortable with anyone else. And I know he would try his hardest to take good care of her, and that's all I could ask of someone in that position." His fingers moved from her cheek back to her stomach. "Think she missed me?"

"Probably," she answered before sniffing and then joining her fingers with his on her stomach. "I'm pretty sure she likes you more than me, the little brat." She used her index and middle fingers to poke at her stomach hoping it would provoke a reaction, but there was apparently still some room for the baby to hide from the jab, even though Natasha didn't feel like that was physically possible.

"Hey," Steve said, fingers moving to rub the spot where Natasha had poked at the baby. "Play nice."

"She started it with the kicking and punching. Besides, McClellan said it was something I could to try and make sure she's moving around in case she decides to go into stealth mode or something."

Steve's eyes turned from her stomach back to her face. "Everything go okay yesterday?"

She nodded. "Got to do all kinds of fun tests. Should have results in a few days. I got made fun of for showing up all by myself for the first time, but she said you had good excuse for not being there."

"When's your next appointment?"

"Two weeks. She said she could do one of those freaky ultrasound things so we can see what her face looks like."

Even in the darkness she could see the smile that crossed his face. "Really?" he asked before scooting down further into the bed so he was eye level with her stomach. "For the record, I'm sure you're going to be beautiful, even if your mom thinks those things look like weird, grainy rock carvings," he said before placing a kiss against Natasha's belly.

She felt her chest seize, not only at the sweetness of his actions and words but also at the ease he'd just displayed in calling her "mom". She flicked him on forehead. "Quit trying to wreck my emotions."

"Sorry," he muttered before placing another quick kiss and whispering, "Missed you." He then began to kiss his way up her body, making sure to pay attention to the tops of her breasts that were spilling out from her sports bra, her neck, jaw, and finally capturing her mouth with his. "Missed you, too," he breathed, his lips still close enough that she felt his words as much as heard them.

She closed the infinitesimal space between them, moaning at the contact and letting her tongue slide against his for a moment before pulling back. "I thought you said you were tired?" she asked, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt.

He shrugged. "Figured since I made you tear up I might try and get your hormones to swing around in my favor to make it up to you." He leaned in for another kiss before asking, "How am I doing so far?"

She gave a shove to his solid stomach and let out a huff of laughter when it didn't move him all that far. "Smug bastard."

* * *

Three days later, schedules aligned and Natasha and Steve invited Clint, Phil, Pepper, and Tony over for dinner. Steve and Natasha promised shish kabobs, since grilling was something Clint and Bruce had taught Steve and he had been unsurprisingly quick to catch on to. Phil and Clint walked in to Natasha's quarters, the latter carrying a covered pot full of spice-infused rice. Tony and Pepper arrived shortly after with a box full of cookies from a nearby bakery.

The men went out onto the balcony to talk about whatever men discussed over open flames and cooking meat. Inside, Pepper ordered Natasha to sit, ignored the eye roll directed at her, and made sure everything was in place.

"How's the rest of the world?" Natasha asked.

"Fine. All the sites for the construction of the other towers are moving along reasonably well. So I'm sure since I've said that I'll be called away to some other continent in the middle of the night." She paused as she adjusted the position of glasses on the table. "This drone army thing that Phil, or anyone else for that matter, won't give me straight answers on: is this something I should be concerned about?"

"Don't worry about it," Natasha answered quickly.

Pepper gave her a hard look, her eyes flickering to watch Tony through the wall of windows for a moment before turning back to Natasha. "You'd tell me if he was in trouble, right? You'd tell me if there was some way I could protect him?"

She gave the other woman a tight smile. "Don't worry about it."

Pepper sighed heavily and shook her head. "There are days I regret making a home with a bunch of secret agents."

"We appreciate the living space, if it makes you feel any better. And speaking of living spaces—"

"You two finally going to move in here instead of spending all your time in Steve's? I mean, not that I mind which floor you live on or who you might live there with, or that Tony has been tracking where you sleep." Natasha muttered a threat in her native tongue under her breath. "I'm sure I understand that sentiment, but please don't break him."

"Fine. And we would sleep down here more often, but my bed is only a full size. Any chance we can get a bigger one in here? Obviously, I'll pay for it, but I know deliveries have to go through one of you."

"What's the matter? You don't have enough room for pregnant you, super soldier him, and all the sex you're _not_ having?" Natasha answered her by quietly taking a drink of water and enjoying the sight of Pepper's eyes going wide. "You have got to be kidding me. Since when? And why haven't you told me?"

"Couple of weeks, because I'm still getting adjusted to this new aspect of things. And keep your voice down, I'm sure the guys are staring by now."

Natasha didn't turn around, but Pepper's waving motions aimed over her head confirmed her suspicions. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the dining table a moment later and giving Natasha a sly smile. "I have questions. They are detailed and numerous."

She shook her head. "I will say that I wish I were my usual flexible self, but that's it."

"Not fair," Pepper pouted. "I want to have girl talk so bad."

"I don't. Because then you'll feel the need to talk about your sex life and I don't want to hear about that side of Tony. Ever."

"Because it's too hot to handle?" Tony asked as he led the group of men into the open area.

"Because I'd rather gouge out my own ear drums," Natasha answered.

Pepper smirked at Tony. "I won the betting pool."

"Which one?" Clint asked.

"The 'How Long is it Going to Take Steve and Natasha to Start Banging?' one."

"You made bets on that?" Steve asked.

"Are you surprised?" Natasha countered.

"Guess I shouldn't be," he replied before setting the platter of speared meat and vegetables down on the table. "Sit and eat before it gets cold," he ordered the guests.

"Oh, no," Tony said as he took a seat to Pepper's right and across from Steve, "don't think you can distract us from this topic with food. Because there are things I want to know. Things I need to know. Cupid here has yet to give up details on what it's like to have sex with her."

"I don't kiss and tell," Clint told Tony around a mouthful of rice.

"And there's no way she's going to answer a question about it directly," Tony continued while pointing his finger at Natasha. He paused in his monologue to turn to Pepper. "Unless she told you?"

"No, but she did ask for a bigger bed."

"Oh really?" Tony asked with a smirk. "That can be arranged."

"Tony," Steve warned.

"Oh, lighten up, Cap. We're just having some fun." He leaned in over the table before adding, "But if you ever feel the need to brag, please know I'm all ears to hear the many and dirty ways—"

"Okay, honey," Pepper said while patting his leg. "You've made your point."

"Fine. And I promise that if he spills, I'll relay all the details to you."

"Thank you."

Phil, seated on the other side of Pepper, asked, "Is there a point to this whole evening? Other than making me uncomfortable?"

"Aww," Clint mocked from Natasha's right. "You don't want to hear about how your childhood hero is nailing someone you see as a little sister?"

"Wait," Tony interrupted, once again pointing at Natasha. "If you're Agent's little sister, and you're like a sister to Barton—whom you've also slept with—how incestuous does that make Bert and Ernie, here?" He turned his attention to Steve. "Are you sure you want to get caught up in this kind of relationship? I mean, we have the medical tests showing that she's basically growing the purest form of inbreeding right now. Is she going to be a sister wife or something?"

All Natasha had to do was start rotating the knife from her place setting in her hand before Tony clamped his jaw shut and turned his attention back to his food. Steve leaned in next to her. "Sure we made the right decision?"

She gave him a small smile while Clint asked, "What decision would that be?"

Her right hand shot out to backhand his chest. "Quit eavesdropping."

Steve cleared his throat while wiping his mouth. He dropped his napkin back into his lap and leaned his elbows on the table. "We need godparents. Miss Potts, any chance you'd be willing to take on yet another responsibility?"

Pepper gave him a bright smile. "I'd be honored."

Natasha turned her attention to Clint and bumped her knee with his. "What?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "She needs a godfather, too."

His eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"You've been proclaiming yourself as 'favorite uncle' since the beginning."

"Well, yeah, but this is… You sure?" She nodded, and he could barely contain his grin long enough to kiss her cheek.

"If something happens to me, she'll go to Steve, but if both of us are gone, she'll go to you."

"Tasha," Clint breathed.

"I'm sure," she answered. She then turned to Pepper. "And if something happens to all three of us—"

"Four of us," Phil said under his breath.

"—then she'll go to you."

"I'm going to need everyone on that side of the table," Tony said making a sweeping gesture that included her with Steve and Clint, "to stay alive for as long possible."

"That's the plan," Steve answered.

Natasha turned to Phil, who was sharing a proud grin with Clint. "You still up for going with me to visit legal on Tuesday?"

Her handler nodded. "Of course."

She turned to Steve with a small grin of relief. "Well, there's one less thing to do."

"Thank you," he responded before leaning over and placing a kiss in her curls.

"So, does this kid have a name yet or what?" Clint asked while grabbing another shish kabob.

"One thing at a time, Barton," she answered. "And let me guess, there's a bet going on for that, too."

Phil shrugged. "You've worked at SHIELD long enough to know that high-stress jobs are usually filled by a bunch of gambling addicts."

"And you're managing these pools I take it?" she asked. He gave her an innocent smile. "How much are you charging these poor fools for that?"

"Only ten percent."

Tony let out a low whistle. "Coulson, I have seriously underestimated your business acumen."

The next hour passed in easy conversation, cleaning dishes, and fighting over who would get what kind of cookies from the variety pack Tony and Pepper brought. When Natasha yawned for the third time, Pepper found some excuse for her and Tony to make their way up to their penthouse suite. She gave Natasha a kiss on the cheek on the way out and whispered, "We're doing lunch" in a way that made it clear there wasn't a question mark at the end of the sentence and that she expected some details when the time came.

Clint and Phil followed suit a few minutes later. Clint rose and extended his hand to Steve who shook it while Clint thanked him for allowing him to be chosen as godfather. Phil squeezed her arm and gave her a smile before Clint pulled her in for a hug, his cheek resting on top of her head for a moment before he pulled away with a wink.

She walked them to the door and leaned back when she felt Steve come up behind her. Once Phil and Clint left, Steve wrapped his arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss into her hair. "Thank you for being willing to do this," he told her again. "Bed?"

"What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

She groaned. "Why am I already exhausted?"

He chuckled as his right hand slid down to rest on her stomach. "You have a good excuse."

"Bed it is," she sighed. "You staying up for a bit?"

He nodded. "If I fall asleep now, I'll be wide awake by three-thirty."

"Is it bad that I miss being able to run on that little of sleep?"

"You'll get plenty of chances to do it again before you know it."


	22. Chapter 22

**NOTES: **Thanks as always to the_wordbutler for not only making my words readable, but also for the massive amount of help she gave me for this chapter. She would like you to know that she is "not a legal expert and shit," but she knows more than I do about guardianship. Thus, if there are some inaccuracies about how to handle kids in the event of the loss of a parent in this chapter, well, that's how it works in the Marvel world. Yeah, sure, let's go with that.

* * *

Natasha met Phil at his office shortly before her eleven o'clock appointment with the SHIELD counselor. She jealously sniffed at the coffee he stopped to pour himself in the break room on the way down three floors to where the lawyers were located.

"Kindly keep your nose hairs out of my coffee," he requested as they stepped into the elevator. "You know they make this stuff in decaf."

"Please," she scoffed. "That stuff is a joke."

"Where's Captain Rogers?"

"I told him he didn't need to come. It's not a doctor's appointment." She paused for a moment before turning to him. "He doesn't need to be here, right? Is he going to have to sign anything?"

Phil shrugged. "I'm sure you can take the forms to him, or he can come in later if it's needed."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer, and followed him out of the elevator and through the hallways and bullpens until they reached their destination. Phil knocked on the office door and they both entered when a woman called for them to come in.

The name on the doorplate read Kate McCoy, and the woman inside was a brunette with glasses and had a few inches on Natasha. She waved the pair to the two empty chairs facing her desk. "You're here to update wills, correct?"

"She is," Phil clarified, "mine's fine."

Natasha censored herself from investigating how involved Clint was or wasn't in Phil's paperwork and instead gave further reason for the appointment. "I'm obviously experiencing some life changes, and I need to make a few amendments to things."

The lawyer nodded as she pulled a yellow notepad in front of her and selected a pink pen to take notes. "I assume you want to change the status of your beneficiary and set up guardians?"

Natasha nodded. "Everything should go to my daughter in case something happens. If we need to make it into one of those trust things that she can access when she turns eighteen or whatever, that's fine. Her guardian can have access to it to pay for things she needs until that time."

"And this guardian would be?" she asked.

"Steven Rogers," Natasha responded.

"Do you have a back-up in mind?"

Natasha nodded. "Clinton Barton. And if that can't work, then Virginia Potts." She watched the names of three of the closest people in her life were scrawled on the yellow paper. It all seemed so clinical—printed names, signing on marked pages, words written in legalese that made her head swim—and she was fine leaving it there in that abstract place in her mind because she wanted these precautions to never need to be used.

"And does this daughter have a name?" McCoy asked.

Natasha fought the urge to fidget at the question. Part of her brain told her she was already shaping up to be a poor parent because she didn't have a name picked out. Another portion whispered that if she did give a name to her child, it would make it all the more painful when the child was magicked out of life as easily as it had entered.

"Not yet," she answered.

The lawyer nodded. "That's fine. We can amend things later once that's official."

Phil shuffled slightly in his chair. "What would the procedure be if something were to happen to Agent Romanoff?"

"Generally speaking, the child would go into the care of the guardian once paperwork was filled out and approved."

"And how long would that take?" Phil asked.

"Depends on the situation. If the Initiative was away when the death occurred, we would have to wait for everyone to come back here and for the will to be read and held valid. Until that happened, the child would have to go into state custody until the guardian is officially named."

"But then the child would be under their care?" Natasha wondered aloud, causing McCoy to nod. "How long would she be in the state's custody? Just an average guess."

The lawyer leaned back in her chair and began fidgeting with her pen. "It could be a few hours, it could be a few days. And, just so we're clear, it's important to note that this person would only be given the title of guardian at this point. If the guardian wanted to adopt the child, that would be possible, but it wouldn't happen automatically."

"How long would that process take?"

The lawyer tilted her head from side to side while considering her response. "That could take weeks, depending on approval from the court."

Natasha paused a moment to consider the information. She'd heard stories of people who had been in state care as a child, and while not all of them were horrible (unlike the few tales Clint had shared with her over the years regarding his childhood), it still wasn't something she ever wanted her daughter to experience.

"If I were to get married after the child is born, could he adopt her then? Would that prevent her from going into state custody?" She caught Phil smoothing out his tie out of the corner of her eye and ignored his anxious tic.

The lawyer nodded. "Yes, there would still be all the paperwork to fill out and procedures to follow."

"And what if we were married before the baby was born?" The words fell out of her mouth before she even realized she'd considered the idea. She kept her face straight despite that; Phil wasn't able to do the same.

"Is this something you've talked about?" he leaned over and asked quietly.

"Yes," she half-lied. She and Steve had discussed marriage, but he didn't need to know that it was only in abstract, way-way-way-down-the-road terms.

"If you're married before the child is born, your husband's name would be on the birth certificate and the law would see her as his child for all intents and purposes," McCoy answered.

"Even if he isn't the biological father?" Natasha inquired.

The lawyer nodded. "Yes. The child would automatically be considered his by the state just by the simple fact that the two of you are married."

Natasha considered her options for a moment before asking, "Can we reschedule for in a couple of weeks? Some things might need to be shuffled around."

"Sure," McCoy responded, "let my assistant know when you want to come back." She paused to take a look at Natasha's stomach. "Just make sure you don't wait too long."

Phil followed her out of the office and managed to stay quiet until they were back inside the elevator. He then pushed the Hold button to keep them in place and pulled a small pen-like device from inside his suit jacket. Natasha waited until the light at the end turned green, signifying that whatever listening devices were around them would be effectively blocked for the next two minutes.

"What are you thinking?" Phil demanded.

"I'm thinking that I don't want my child to go into state custody, even if only for a few hours, and neither would Steve."

"So, what, you're going to tell him you want to elope tomorrow?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't have to be tomorrow, it can—"

"Natasha," he sighed. "You do realize that this is marriage we're talking about. This isn't like building a cover identity for an op, forging papers, and making sure they're nullified once you come home. This is serious, something that's supposed to last forever."

She turned to him with a fierce expression on her face. "Thank you for explaining that, I had no idea that's what a marriage meant."

Phil shook his head, "I'm just trying—"

"No, please, tell me more about this concept because I'm wholly unfamiliar with it, seeing as I'm a manipulative, emotionless spy."

"Enough," Phil snapped in a tone that was an obvious warning. "That is not what I was inferring, and you know it." He sighed and buttoned his jacket. "I'm trying to look out for you," he said quietly.

"And I'm trying to look out for her. Isn't that what a parent is supposed to do?"

"Natasha—"

"Stop." She shook her head and turned her focus to the row of buttons lining the wall to the right of the elevator door. "I don't remember my parents," she continued softly, "but I remember what it was like to be taken away. To be surrounded by strangers. I remember that loneliness, and it never really goes away. I don't want her to ever experience that, to have it haunt her." She took a few cleansing breaths to shake off the memories the conversation conjured in her mind. "Steve and I have talked about this. Maybe not this soon, but it's been discussed."

"You're sure?" Phil asked after considering her words for a moment.

"No," she answered easily. "But I haven't been sure about anything for about six months now."

* * *

Natasha half-heartedly reviewed upcoming missions for junior agents with Sitwell for three hours after meeting with legal and grabbing lunch from the commissary. Then, with nothing pressing in her schedule for the rest of the day or the next, she packed up her things and went back to the Tower.

She changed into one of Steve's undershirts and a pair of yoga pants that hung low on her hips to stay out of the way of her stomach. As soon as she was finished redressing, she heard Steve enter her place and announce his presence. His mouth kicked up in a half-grin when he saw her. "Are you going to steal all of my clothes?"

"I don't wear pleated khakis—you're safe."

He gave her a full smile before wiping the sweat from a long run off his brow. "How'd it go today?" he asked on his way to the open kitchen to get a glass of water. "Do I need to sign anything?"

"A marriage license."

She knew that may not have been the best way to approach the subject but ignored the small voice of reason in her mind. She fought a grimace as Steve, still at the sink, was so shocked at her words that he ignored the running faucet, causing water to fill his glass and spill over his fingers. He shook his head a moment later, shut off the water, and sat the glass down with a bit of force onto the counter. Natasha was pretty sure that since he didn't immediately clean up the water that had sloshed over the lip of the glass, he wasn't thrilled at the offer.

"What?" he asked quietly when he found his voice.

She crossed half the distance between them and sat on the couch. She didn't want him to feel like she was consuming his personal space by moving closer than that, but she knew it wouldn't be best to have the width of the open living room between them for this conversation.

"It would be best for us to be married before she's born," Natasha restated.

"Best for whom? Because I thought you didn't want to get married."

"That's not necessarily what I said, I just—"

"Would you like me to repeat the words you told me on the matter?" he asked with tightness in his voice. "Because I can do that."

She swallowed her own rising temper. "Okay, so I wasn't planning on it happening this soon."

"If at all," he cut in.

"But for her sake—" Her words stopped as he heaved a bitter huff of air and turned his attention to the floor. "I thought this was something you wanted, picket fence and everything."

She had to strain to hear the next words out of his mouth.

"Picket fences involve love."

She closed her eyes at the comment; left feeling small, she didn't bother trying to come up with a reply. Because such a statement demanded honesty, and doing that would prove his point.

"I need to think about it," he said after they both stayed quiet for a time. "I know this was my idea to begin with but… You said it wasn't going to happen—at least not anytime soon—and so I'd accepted that. I need time to think about this."

"Of course," she responded.

He stood at the kitchen counter, eyes still downcast, long enough for Natasha to wonder if the tension in his shoulders meant he was leaving his handprints embedded in the lip of the counter he currently had in a death grip. But he shortly pushed himself off and away, and, without a word or even the slightest bit of eye contact, made his way out of her apartment.

Natasha sat on the couch for ten minutes wondering what to do. She couldn't go to Clint; he'd just tell Phil, and she didn't want another conversation similar to the one they'd already had in the elevator. It felt wrong to ask JARVIS to track Steve's movements. Bruce might have a sympathetic ear—certainly more so than Thor or anyone else really in the Tower—but the scientist made sure to stay out of people's personal lives as much as possible and Natasha wasn't in the mood to rehash all the information needed to give context to the situation. She could call Pepper, but word would get to Tony and while odds were low that Stark would actually listen to what was said let alone do something about them, Natasha didn't want to risk it.

This was between she and Steve—just the two of them.

_Three of us_, a voice said in her head.

And that, she realized, was what was causing the ache in her chest.

* * *

The following day, Natasha awoke to an empty bed. She swallowed a request for JARVIS to locate Steve and instead got ready to go into work even though it was a full ninety minutes before her alarm was set to go off.

Headquarters was as quiet as it ever got when she arrived. She spent most of her morning analyzing new pieces of intelligence that had come in overnight to help determine fact from people trying to get on SHIELD's good side with some fiction. She was in the middle of reading a transcript from a phone call with an anonymous man in Libya about a weapons transaction he'd supposedly witnessed when a knock sounded at her door. "Come in," she answered.

Phil stuck his head around the door and raised his eyebrows in a silent request. She waved him in further to the office as an answer. He sat in one of the chairs across from her desk. "You okay? You logged into the system awfully early."

"Stalker," she shot back, eyes not leaving her monitor. He didn't respond, and she knew that between the two of them, they could spend eternity waiting each other out. Well, maybe not eternity but at least until she went into labor, but that didn't keep her from making him sit there for a few minutes. "Couldn't sleep so I thought I'd get in my limited hours and have the afternoon to myself."

"Just yourself?"

She sighed and finally turned her eyes to him. "You were right. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No," he answered quietly. "What happened?"

"I told him we needed to be married before the baby was born."

"Did you explain why?" She shrugged in response. "Natasha, you're going to need to tell him, let him know why you're afraid."

"I'm never going to have any secrets again, am I?" He didn't respond to her statement but silently remained in his chair. "Have you heard anything from him since last night?"

"He sent me a text late in the evening asking me to keep an eye on you. Said he was staying in Brooklyn."

She should've felt annoyed or insulted at Steve's request, but she couldn't muster the energy to summon those emotions. "He say anything else?"

"No."

"Think he's still there?"

"I can find out."

She shook her head. "Don't. I'll take care of it."

Phil nodded and stood. He turned back to face when he reached the door. "Sorry for what I said to you yesterday."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I could've handled it better," he said before leaving her alone.

She sighed into the empty room. "You and me both."

* * *

After finishing her reports and changing into a mustard yellow tank top and black cotton shorts, Natasha made her way to Brooklyn. She spent the cab ride over trying to figure out what to say, but nothing seemed to settle with her. When she stepped on to the curb in front of the building Steve's personnel file had listed as a secondary residence, she was a little relieved to spot his motorcycle tucked away in the adjacent alley. She was not in the mood for a manhunt.

Her disposition only soured further when she realized that he was on the fourth floor, there was no elevator, and the baby decided that now would be a great time to have the hiccups.

A few minutes later, Natasha knocked on his door. Steve opened up and was quick to cover up the surprise that was initially written on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I was informed that I should better explain why I said what I did to you yesterday. Mind if I come in?"

He opened the door further and stepped out of the way to let her into his space. She toed off her sandals and let them rest next to his boots just inside the doorway. Turning around, she took in the small living space. She'd heard rumors of his vintage apartment, but seeing it for herself made her feel like she was stepping into a museum. Not in the fun way of getting to learn about things from the past, but in the way that reminded you that people used to live like this but didn't anymore because they'd been gone for decades. It left her feeling uncomfortable and a bit sad that this was where he went to find refuge.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Water's fine," she answered.

"Have a seat," he said, waving her towards the sofa. She sat in the corner and resisted the urge to prop her feet up on the coffee table. He walked around to hand her a glass before sitting at the opposite end.

She greedily drank half of it before setting it on the small table to her right. Still feeling too warm from the upward climb, the June heat, and being in her third trimester, she pulled an elastic band from the pocket of her shorts and pulled her hair back into as much of a ponytail as she could. She could feel a couple loose tendrils curling at the nape of her neck, but decided it was good enough.

The act still hadn't bought her enough time to properly phrase words to say to him like she hoped it would. She opened her mouth and hoped for the best.

"I'm sorry," she started.

"For what?"

"For being a crazy person who changes her mind."

The corner of his mouth fought a twitch, but he kept his gaze at a spot on the floor directly in front of him. "Why did you? Change your mind I mean."

Natasha sighed. Explaining this would mean telling him things she hadn't told anyone else before. Part of her mind, the part that had lamented to Phil about losing all her secrets, fought it. She already shared a bed with Steve, and had tentatively agreed to sharing a child and a life, too. Did he really need to know every single thing?

Yes, she decided. Certainly not all at once, but he had volunteered himself to be swept up in the mess that was her life; he deserved honestly.

"I was young when my parents died, seven or eight," she started. She felt his gaze slowly turn to her, but she kept her focus downwards to where her hands rested on her stomach, the baby finally calm and still for a few minutes, at least. "I don't remember them at all. The first memory I have is of a fire. And I don't even know if that's what actually happened or if that's what the people who made me what I am wanted me to believe was the truth.

"There was a fire, and then there were these men. I didn't know a single one of them. I just knew they weren't my parents. They came and… collected me from wherever I'd run to in order to escape. They told me everything was going to be fine, and I knew it was a lie. I've barely trusted anyone since that moment."

She paused and turned to face him. "You're right—I don't want to get married for love, because I don't love you. I don't know if I ever will, and I'm sorry for that. You deserve better, and if you want to walk away from this, I would absolutely understand." Natasha watched his jaw work back and forth, but he stayed quiet, so she kept talking.

"But even though I don't love you, I do need you. I need you for her. She needs someone good in her life. And if something happens to me, I don't want her to be collected by strangers. I don't want her to lose trust in everyone she meets because of that."

He quietly digested her words for a minute, fingers of his right hand absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the furniture's upholstery, before asking his question. "Why does it matter whether or not we're married before she's born?"

"It means your name will be on the birth certificate as her father."

"I'm not her father—not technically, anyway."

Natasha shrugged. "Apparently that doesn't matter. If we're married at the time of birth, it's just automatically assumed.

"And," she continued, "if something were to happen to me, since the law would see her as your daughter instead of… whatever the kid of a guardian is called, the state wouldn't need to get involved."

"No strange men coming to collect her?"

Natasha nodded.

Steve's eyes bore into hers, the blue bringing an intensity so strong that felt the urge to look away. But she didn't; instead, she tried her best to keep her face as open and honest as she physically could stand.

"Okay," he said a moment later.

She felt her eyebrows rise slightly at the word. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have to do this," she repeated. "I don't want you to feel trapped."

"I don't. I mean, I always thought I'd be in love with the person I was going to marry, but—" He paused to shrug his broad shoulders. "—I wouldn't have asked in the first place if I wasn't okay with this being what happened. I told you I'd do what I could to help and support you."

"But, Steve, this is a lot."

He scooted over to close the distance between them and reached over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "You're worth it," he told her before using his left hand to cover both of hers, his thumb free to brush a path back and forth against her stomach. "And so is she."

"I don't deserve you."

He nodded in agreement, causing her to elbow him in the ribs. He chuckled to himself before leaning his forehead against hers. "Sorry I ran away."

Natasha shrugged. "You've stayed remarkably sane so far through this. You were due for a freak out."

His mouth kicked up in a crooked grin. "Thanks, I guess. So, should I get you a ring or something? Get down on one knee?"

She shook her head before leaning it on his shoulder. "You basically proposed a while ago. And what's the point in a ring when my fingers are growing more sausage-like with each passing day? I mean, if you want to get wedding bands or something, that's fine. But I don't need anything else."

"When are we doing this?"

"What do you think?"

She felt him gently shrug under her. "The sooner the better, right?"

"Well, I'm hoping she's not going to come early, but probably," she thought out loud.

"Not for that, although that's what I'm hoping for too. I just mean the sooner we do this the less time there is for people to turn it into a spectacle."

"Are you suggesting we elope somewhere?"

"Maybe," he replied.

She pulled her head free from his shoulder. "Unless you want to do it in your church or something."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Honestly, I'm not sure we could or what all would have to be involved. That's never been a sticking point for me anyway. Never really cared about the wedding part, just the marriage."

She expected to feel some apprehension at the mention of the m-word, but none came. "Okay, so we elope somewhere."

"Sure," he agreed. "What will we need?"

"Paperwork, although I don't know what, and a couple of witnesses."

"Phil and Clint?" Steve asked.

"You know how much Phil loves to do paperwork. He could take care of that end of things. And the two of them can keep a secret. But," she added with a sigh, "I'll end up murdered if I don't tell Pepper."

"And she'll tell Tony."

"And there goes any hope of this not being a spectacle."

"So what do you want to do?" he asked.

"I want to take a nap." He chuckled at her response. "I'm not kidding. I barely slept at all last night, and I just got exhausted by walking up four flights of stairs. If you repeat that fact to anybody, I'll hurt you. I have a reputation to maintain after all."

He rose from the couch and extended his hand to her. "Nap it is."


	23. Chapter 23

**NOTES: Usual thanks to the_wordbutler for beta work and constant encouragement.**

* * *

Pepper was the third person informed about Steve and Natasha's wedding plans, and the first to take action about it. The CEO began arranging all the necessary items with a combination of efficiency and glee that both and impressed and scared Natasha. It was decided that Pepper should plan everything save the bachelor party—that honor went to Tony. The reason for that was because if anyone else was selected for that duty, Stark would just whine until the other person gave in or would just take everything over anyway. So to save some frustration and time, Stark won this round. Pepper warned him the ceremony was going to take place upstate in a quiet county with lovely scenery. Translation: no place to party.

"Honey," Tony chastised Pepper, "you're forgetting how many jets I own."

The wedding was planned for Wednesday, exactly one week after Natasha and Steve had talked through things in his Brooklyn apartment. Despite their wishes to keep things as private as possible, the team (as well as Maria, Jane, Darcy, Sitwell, and his wife) had found their way onto the guest list.

Natasha felt uneasy about that. This wasn't a typical wedding; there was no reason to celebrate it as such. The event was closer to brokering a business deal than a celebration of unifying love.

But on the other hand, Natasha was a little grateful about the way things were shaping up. Part of her felt like she was conning Steve out of things he'd hoped for his whole life, but all the effort and support from her friends helped soothe that feeling slightly.

Pepper had found a large estate a little over an hour to the north. Natasha didn't care much about a specific location, but she was excited to get out of the city; she hadn't left the area in months, and it was the longest she'd been in one spot without a cover identity in years.

The house, which was an understatement of a title, had enough bedrooms to house all the guests, as well as a separate mother-in-law's quarters in the yard that was quickly dubbed The Honeymoon Suite. The estate was where most of the activity—getting ready for the ceremony, reception, and where Steve and Natasha would remain for a few days for a quasi-honeymoon—was to take place. The wedding itself would occur at a small chapel a couple of miles down the road.

Other things fell into place, too. Coulson took care of taking Steve to have a suit made for the occasion, and Natasha was thrilled to find something that not only fit but looked halfway decent on her at the first dress shop Pepper dragged her to.

The other priority of the week was Monday's doctor's appointment. Natasha felt nerves at the thought of her appointments becoming bi-weekly and the implication that it wouldn't be long—ten weeks if the baby stuck to her due date—before her daughter was born. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that she'd already been pregnant for seven months.

Steve was the only one to accompany her to medical. McClellan first took all her measurements and did all her poking and prodding before taking notes and asking questions. Natasha's test results from the previous appointment all came back fine. Yes, the baby was still small and yes, her blood pressure was still high. No, it still wasn't seen as a concern. Natasha informed the doctor of her fatigue, but was told that was normal. They also discussed a birth plan—no epidural—before moving on to the ultrasound.

It took a minute to find the correct angle, but soon enough her daughter's face was on the screen. The grainy, sepia image showed her face with her left hand resting against her cheek. Natasha studied the image to see what similarities she could find to her own appearance, but it just looked like a baby—anyone's baby, not necessarily hers or a replica of herself. Her eyes slid over to Steve, who watched the screen with an obvious fascination. He caught her looking at him and turned to her with raised eyebrows. "What do you think?" he asked

"I think it looks like a baby."

"That's a good thing, right?" McClellan asked. "I mean, if it looked like a cat or something then I'd fine reason for concern, but otherwise I'd say you're both good to go. She looks good. And as long as you continue to try and be as stress-free as possible, you'll be fine, too."

"We'll see how easy that's going to be this week," Steve said.

"Big plans?"

"A wedding," Natasha replied.

McClellan kept her eyes on the chart she was filling out when she muttered, "I'll assume my invitation was lost in the mail."

Natasha dug her nails into Steve's hand as a warning not to blurt out the invitation she could practically see waiting on the tip of his tongue.

The doctor caught the exchange and laughed. "Thanks for the thought, though."

The pair of them met the others for lunch to go over the itinerary for the rest of the week. There was casual chatting beforehand where Clint demanded to see the ultrasound picture. He held the image next to Natasha's face, eyes bouncing back and forth between the faces, before shrugging and passing the picture on around the table. Tony criticized the image quality, saying he could build a better one. Bruce started lecturing him about sound waves and the limit of safety when they're mixed in with a pregnancy. Tony lasted thirty seconds into the discussion before waving him off and switching the topic to Bruce's latest experiment.

Pepper soon gathered order and passed out a packet of information; Phil was the only one who seemed pleased about this. Steve leaned over to ask Natasha, "Is there a mission embedded in this somewhere that I'm not aware of?"

"She thinks if she keeps Tony busy, he won't cause trouble."

"I'm assuming there's a betting pool on that?"

"Naturally."

Pepper went through the order of events. Late tomorrow morning, the ladies—Pepper, Natasha, Jane and Darcy—would leave for the rented house and get their things settled before putting in some time at a nearby spa. The boys were flying to Boston to catch a day game between the Red Sox and Dodgers before making their way upstate. It was decided there didn't need to be a rehearsal for the ceremony since it was extremely simple and Pepper would undoubtedly have everything prepared. The group would have dinner together, and afterwards, there wouldn't be any strippers.

"Is that rule only for the guys?" Darcy asked from the end of the table.

Tony spun his chair in her direction and pointed a finger at her. "I was told I would not be having sex for a week, which is like a decade to a normal person, if a stripper showed up. If you put my sex life in jeopardy, I will disable any and all social media accounts you could ever dream of having."

* * *

Natasha seriously considered naming her daughter Pepper halfway through the spa day. The woman had certainly earned it: she'd vetted the place within her usual intensity, making sure the staff knew to keep their clients identities a secret. She made a fuss like that particular predicament was only for her, and it was mostly true; Natasha's stomach so far had proven to be a decent disguise. Pepper had then made sure the prenatal massage therapist was up to snuff. It was the most relaxing hour Natasha'd had in a while. It took all she had in her not to fall asleep in the middle of her mani-pedi.

Darcy and Pepper were off in another room for facials, and Jane was in the chair next to Natasha trying to pick out which shade of nail polish would look best. After a few minutes of deliberating, she picked a pale pink. "I'm speaking at a conference in three days. Can't have crazy nails, despite what Darcy believes."

Natasha pretended to ignore the sideways glances the other woman snuck, or at least she tried to. "If you have a question, you can just ask it," Natasha said. She only felt half guilty for her word choice and her tone when she saw Jane wince in guilt.

"It's nothing, don't—"

"It's okay. Ask me, but just know I may not tell you the truth."

Jane studied her openly for a moment before posing her question. "Is this something you ever saw for yourself—marriage and a family?"

"No," Natasha answered easily.

"Then why are you doing it?"

Natasha leaned back in her chair and pondered the question for a moment. Thor had kept his word about keeping the event regarding her daughter's conception a secret, and for all intents and purposes, Jane and Darcy fully believed the child to be Steve's and that they'd been a couple since the team first formed, if Natasha had overheard them correctly. If they'd shared this theory with the other occupants of Stark Tower, none of them bothered to make inform the women of the truth, which Natasha was grateful for. It meant it was possible that she and Steve might be able to pull off this family thing convincingly. Maybe.

"I didn't think I'd ever have it as an option," she finally said. "I never saw it for myself because I firmly believed it was out of the realm of possibility. But now that I have it? I'm terrified I'll wake up and it will have vanished. So I'm going to fight to keep it as my life for as long as I can."

Jane nodded and thought about her words while Natasha realized just how easily she'd been truthful in her answer.

"Is this one of those conversations where your questions are really about yourself?" Natasha asked.

The scientist gave a small smile. "It's always been career for me. Always discovery and research. But then this guy literally fell out of the sky at my feet. And Thor is great, but he's… Thor. We're two different species from two very different places. He's been around for thousands of years and is still young. My lifespan is only a small piece of time compared to his.

"And it's not like we could have kids, even if we wanted to. Which he does. He wants lots of them, which honestly makes me kind of glad that we can't have children because can you imagine a drove of mini-Thors? It's terrifying to me, and I love him." She shook her head with a sigh. "What do you think?"

"I think he's happier with you around. He's thrilled you've moved to New York. We know all about you mainly because he never stops talking about you. But as for what to do, I'm one of the least qualified people to give out relationship advice."

"Says the woman getting married tomorrow."

"Which makes things all the more frightening." Natasha chewed on her thoughts while inspected her freshly-painted fingernails. "You're worried that if you marry him, he'll be unhappy because you'll die soon—to him at least."

"Something like that."

Natasha shrugged. "I think you have to leave it up to him whether or not to decide if he's happy."

"Is she lamenting over the fact that she can't have Thorlings again?" Darcy asked as she walked into the manicure area of the spa, her cheeks rosy from her facial. "Jane, the dude—while hot—is like seven feet tall. You are pint-sized. Do you really want to t-shirt cannon out his ginormous babies? The answer is no." She paused to shoot a thoughtful look at Natasha. "You're having a girl, right?"

Natasha fought the urge to lie and feign ignorance, but Thor trusted these two, so she supposed she could too. "Yes."

"So odds are good she won't have her dad's shoulders. Because on him they are smoking hot, but I can't imagine trying to shove them out of me."

Natasha snorted as Jane hissed a "Darcy!" at the young woman.

"What?" she asked. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking."

* * *

Natasha inspected her appearance in the full-length mirror of one of the bathrooms in the main house. She was grateful there hadn't been any bickering about her and Steve avoiding each other until the ceremony. As difficult as it was to admit, she slept better when he was near her; if pressed for a reason, she'd tell them it was because she was becoming too ungainly to adequately protect herself if someone were to attack in the middle of the night, even though it was pretty impossible for Natasha not to be lethal no matter what state her body was in.

The dress she was wore was navy blue—white was absolutely out of the question for a number of reasons—and came to her knees. It was a silk strapless cocktail dress with a lace overlay that covered the garment as well as her shoulders and arms to the elbow. A pair of navy kitten heels completed the look.

She was double-checking her makeup when someone knocked on the door. "Come in."

Clint, dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a white dress shirt underneath, poked his head in. "Will you please tell Phil you won't be pissed if I don't wear a tie?"

"It's fine," Natasha yelled. She heard a familiar sigh and footfalls heading away from them and down the hall as a response.

"It's almost July and he wants me to wear a suit _and _a tie? No."

"Poor baby, you worried you're going to overheat having to wear two sets of sleeves?"

"I told him I'd only wear the tie if I could cut the arms off of this stuff. He told me the Chippendale's look wouldn't be appropriate." He paused to turn his head back to the door before yelling, "Even though I could totally pull it off and you'd love every second of it."

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest before looking her up and down. "You look beautiful," he told her with a soft smile on his face.

"I look like a whale."

"Yes, a beautiful, lacy whale." He laughed when she slapped him in the chest with her hairbrush. "Phil's the last one to leave, everyone else is there or on their way."

"Maria and Jasper?"

"Got in twenty minutes ago."

Natasha nodded. "So everyone is just waiting on me, is what you're saying."

"Whenever you're ready we can go. Or run away, whichever."

Natasha's lips pursed into a hard line at the thought. "I'm not running away."

"Thought didn't even cross your mind?" he asked in a challenging tone.

"No. If Steve were to do that, no one would blame him."

Clint gave her an exaggerated nod in agreement before jumping out of the way of her hairbrush swinging in his direction once more. "C'mon, gorgeous, let's get you married."

He asked three more times on the five minute drive to the chapel if she was sure about this, and only stopped when she gave a detailed account of how she was going to remove several of his organs with a spoon if he kept it up.

They walked up to the closed double doors leading into the single-room chapel. Clint offered her his arm, and she tucked her hand inside the crook of his elbow. "Aren't you supposed to have flowers or something?" he asked.

"No, don't need them. Bruce has the rings?"

"Phil triple-checked, yes. And just so you know, the place has big, uneven slabs of rock for tiles. So watch your footing."

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't walk."

"I'm just trying to look out for the two of you, ease up."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you. For being here and everything."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Tasha. And even more for her," he said pointing to her stomach. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

Clint pulled open the door in front of him and as soon as it moved, Maria pushed the other one open from inside. The chapel was small, a short aisle with three rows of wooden pews on either side. Light filtered in through the old, warped glass of the windows lining either side of the stone structure.

In front of her, Bruce—recently ordained thanks to the internet—and Steve waited for her, Phil standing off to the side. As soon as Clint and Natasha stepped foot into the chapel, Pepper stood and the rest of the seated guests followed suit. The only sounds were the clicks of their shoes as they walked forward and that of Darcy's camera.

Natasha's eyes locked onto Steve. She felt something grow and seize in her chest when he grinned at her coming towards him. She reluctantly pulled her eyes away from his face to sweep over the whole of him, noting the perfectly-tailored contours of his black suit, white dress shirt, and a light blue silk tie. She was going to have to send a filthy thank you note to Phil for dressing him.

In eight steps, Clint and Natasha reached Steve and Bruce. Clint handed her off and moved to stand next to Phil as official witnesses as everyone else once again took their seats. Steve took her hand and followed Bruce's motions for them to stand facing each other.

"We're gathered here," Bruce began in his steady, quiet voice, "because these two people want to affirm the fact that life is better—easier, more enjoyable—when you have someone at your side. And they're here before us—the people they call their family—to swear their intentions to stand by each other."

He paused to turn to the groom. "Steve, do you promise to support, encourage, and protect Natasha? To remain at her side in good times and bad? To fight for her and with her against whatever life throws at you?"

Steve gently squeezed her hands before saying, "I do."

"Natasha, do you promise to support, encourage, and protect Steve? To remain at his side in good times and bad? To fight for him and with him against whatever life throws at you?"

"I do," she swore.

Bruce reached into the pocket of his gray slacks and pulled out two white-gold bands. He laid them in the palm of his right hand and held them out for the others to see. "The way you make gold pure is by putting it through fire. The extreme heat gets rid of impurities leaving only the precious metal behind. You both have been through your own fires—heat that would burn away lesser people. And," he said with a nod and faint smile towards Natasha's stomach, "I'm sure you still have some fires ahead of you, but you'll fight them together and be better for it." He held the rings out for them to take the one they'd give away.

Steve went first. "With this ring, I take you as my wife." He tried to slide the ring on all the way, but it got stuck on the last knuckle. Natasha's slipped his band on to her thumb before pushing her ring into place.

She then took his left hand in hers and slid his ring on this his finger. "With this ring, I take you as my husband."

"Any objections?" Bruce asked the ten guests; they remained silent. "Then by the power vested in me by the world wide web, I pronounce you husband and wife," he declared with a smile. He turned to Steve and jerked his head towards to Natasha. "Kiss her."

"Yes, sir," Steve replied before pulling her into his arms. The kiss was restrained yet sweet, and it caused the small room to erupt in a cheer, the loudest of all being Thor's yell and Clint's whistle. When he pulled away he smiled down at her for a moment before a look of uncertainty flickered over his face. "What do we do now?" he asked only loud enough for her to hear.

Natasha gave him a small shrug and looked expectantly at Bruce.

"Oh, right," he muttered to himself before raising his voice over the din. "We have to sign some paperwork. If you all want to start heading back to the house to get things ready, we'll be shortly behind you."

The guests began to filter out after Darcy snapped a few pictures on her camera. Their exit left the five people needed to sign the marriage license. Steve scrawled his signature first, followed by Natasha (who wasn't changing her last name and was grateful that Steve didn't mind), Clint, Phil, and Bruce. Once everything had the proper signature, Phil placed the paperwork in the inner pocket of his suit jacket with a promise to get things filed when the guests headed back to the city first thing in the morning.

The three men made their way out of the chapel, leaving Steve and Natasha alone.

"So," he started.

"Yeah."

He looked down at his left hand before twisting the band around his finger with his thumb. "That's going to feel weird for a while." She nodded in agreement as he turned and sat in a pew in front of her. He gently placed both hands on her hips and aligned her stomach towards him. "And just so you know—all that stuff I just promised your mom? Goes for you, too." He pressed a kiss against her belly before standing and kissing Natasha's forehead.

She lightly punched him in the ribs. "You're going to ruin my makeup. Stop being so nice."

He brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. "You do look beautiful."

"You don't look so bad yourself."

He extended an arm to her. "Ready?" She nodded as she took hold of his elbow.

They walked out into the open and were immediately attacked by falling rice and another round of cheers. She heard Steve mutter something about not having his shield as he pulled her along through the small crowd. Pepper laughed an apology as she led the group to their cars. Natasha and Steve brushed grains of rice of themselves and each other as everyone else drove off.

She watched the line of cars pull away, leaving the newly married couple and the car they would take back to the house. She turned back to Steve—her husband, the word ungainly in her mind. She reached up and brushed a trio of rice grains from his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp as she went. He smiled down at her. "Ready to go?" he asked.

She grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him down for a kiss, this one with less restraint and more heat than the one after Bruce pronounced them married. She smiled up at him when she pulled away. "Now I'm ready."

* * *

Tony collapsed in the chair next to her, somehow managing not to spill a single drop from the martinis in each hand. He sat one down on the table in front of her and toasted her with the other before taking a sip.

"You know I can't drink, right?" she asked.

"That one isn't for you. Pep gets pissed when she catches me double-fisting. You're just keeping that one company for now."

Natasha let herself smile at the joke. They sat in companionable silence, observing the room. The furniture in the open living area had been pushed against the walls to make room for a dance floor. At the moment, Darcy's iPod was playing some boy band from the nineties—Natasha never bothered to keep them straight—and people had paired off to dance with each other. Darcy was trying to teach Thor the choreography that matched the song, Phil and Maria were doing the best they could to the pop beat, and Clint and Jane were either seizing or attempting to dance—it was hard to tell. Jasper and his wife had snuck off a half hour ago, more than happy to have an evening together and away from their three daughters. And Bruce was taking Darcy's place as official photographer for a moment.

Natasha followed Tony's line of vision to land on Steve and Pepper dancing off to the side. Pepper was in the process of leading him through a few steps she knew, and he was unsurprisingly picking things up quickly.

Tony raised his glass in their direction. "Here's to hoping neither one of them realize they could do better."

Natasha picked up the martini glass in front of her and clinked it against his before setting it down on the table. "You really should stop paying for all of our stuff." Tony waved her off. "I'm serious. It's not like either Steve or I are poor. We should've paid for this."

"Consider it your wedding gift from Pepper and I."

"Pepper planning it would've been a good enough present."

Tony snickered. "You would've had a bouquet full of knives if left to your own devices, wouldn't you?"

"Like you don't have a tuxedo suit in production just in case Pepper can actually talk you into marrying her." She watched something flicker over his face, but he shut it down almost as soon as it started. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What?" he asked as he replaced his now-empty martini with the one in front of her.

"You're going to propose?"

"No," he replied with a shake of his head.

"Liar," she challenged.

He raised his right hand in an oath to the vodka in his left. "I solemnly swear that I am not going to propose to Pepper Potts."

She studied him for a moment more as the pieces clicked into place. "Because you already did?"

His shoulders seemed to deflate a bit at the release of someone knowing his secret. "Thrice. She shot me down each time; didn't think I was serious."

"How many of those times were during or immediately after sex?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, so I can see how that one wouldn't seem genuine."

"What about the other two? Did you get down on one knee? Was there a ring?"

"No and no. I just asked because it felt right. I guess because there wasn't a metric ton of bells and whistles to go with it, she thought I was just joking."

Natasha shook her head, still in a bit of shock at hearing the words coming out of his mouth. "You, Anthony Edward Stark, would actually get married?"

"To her? Yes. I mean, don't get me wrong, it would still scare the ever-loving shit out of me. Like, I'd probably be hyperventilating and vomiting right before the ceremony, if not during, but for her? Yeah." His gaze shifted from Pepper to Natasha before he added, "And if you breathe a word of this—"

"I know how to keep secrets, Tony."

"Right up until the point where you see a benefit from spilling the beans or just get bored." She shrugged in response. "See? This is why I don't talk to you all that often." He took another sip of his drink before nodding his head at her stomach. "How's Tsarina doing?"

"Having her own dance party."

"Clint said it's starting to look like something from _Alien_ in there."

Natasha nodded. "'Which limb is trying to bust out of my stomach?' is a new game I find myself playing often."

Tony's face took on a horrified expression. "You can really see stuff moving? I thought Barton was just bullshitting."

"Nope, it's a thing now."

Tony groaned and gave a full-body shudder.

They sat in silence once again before Tony leaned over, still keeping his eyes on Pepper. "You know if the two of you ever want to join us—"

"No."

"I could've said 'for dinner'."

"You weren't going to."

He shrugged. "Worth a shot." He then stood and held a hand out to her. "Haven't had my turn yet. That is, if you're up to it."

Natasha was grateful that the next song to come up was slow one, because she'd already danced with all the other gentlemen present and her feet were screaming at her for it. She pulled her feet off of the chair in front of her stood as gracefully as possible with Tony's assistance. "Don't step on my toes, I ditched my shoes an hour ago."

He held her close, but not as tightly as he would've a year ago, and he led them in a slow path to reach Steve and Pepper. "Hands off my woman, Rogers."

Steve raised his hands in surrender with a small smile as he took a step away from Pepper, who shot a dirty look at Tony before turning back to her dance partner. "That was a lovely time, thank you."

"Anytime, Miss Potts."

Tony waggled his eyebrows in Natasha's direction. "See? He said 'anytime.'"

"Get away from me."

He followed her order and led Pepper back to the main section of the impromptu dance floor, ordering Darcy to turn on something funky.

Steve pulled Natasha against him. "Hey," he greeted.

"Hi."

Whatever he was going to say was cut off when Jane pardoned herself after walking up to them. "Just so you know," she said barely audible over the music, "Thor was telling me about some of the Asgardian wedding traditions. And unless you want him and the rest of them helping you get undressed here in a few minutes in order to prepare for the 'bedding' portion of the evening, you might want to sneak out now."

"Thank you for the warning," Steve said.

The petite scientist smiled. "I'll keep him distracted—make a break for it."

Natasha watched her cross the room to start dancing with the mountain of an alien man before turning back to Steve. "My shoes are over at the dining table, and that's moving in the opposite direction of the back door."

"I'll get them."

"And another slice of cake?"

He nodded with a grin. "Got it. See you outside."

True to his word, he caught up with her just outside the detached living space, a plate with two slices of cake in one hand and her navy heels and his suit jacket dangling from the other.

They walked into the small living space together, which was set up like a decently-sized studio apartment, complete with a full kitchen. Steve set the cake on the table and Natasha's shoes on the floor before draping his suit jacket on the back of one of the chairs.

"Help me with this?" Natasha asked while turning her back to him and motioning towards the zipper of her dress. He slid the zipper down and helped her gently pull the dress up and over her head. She turned and accepted the garment from his outstretched hand, noting the darkened color of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly, guilt weighing on her. "Whatever expectations you may have had for a wedding night probably aren't going to be met. I'm exhausted."

He gave a small shrug, and Natasha's eyes were drawn to the way the motion pulled at his tailored dress shirt. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," she replied. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. I just can't tonight, which is a shame," she added, looking up at him through her lashes, "because I've been thinking about peeling you out of that suit all night."

His jaw ground together before he muttered, "Not helping."

She resisted the urge to go up on her toes and kiss him as an apology, and instead turned towards the bathroom grabbing one of her bags along the way. She emerged a few minutes later, face clean of makeup, hair up in a barely-there pony tail, and once again wearing one of Steve's undershirts.

"You want your cake?" Steve asked around the mouthful of the dessert.

Natasha shook her head as she climbed into the bed. "I'll eat it one of the times I get up to pee. Sleep now." She got herself and her pillows adjusted, she closed her eyes and shortly after felt the bed dip as Steve joined her.

He reached over to lay a hand on her stomach. "You know, the waists were the one part of my undershirts that weren't stretched out."

"I'll buy you new ones," she muttered into her pillow. She was almost asleep, lulled into peace by Steve's fingers slowly fanning back and forth over her stomach, when Salt-n-Pepa's "Push It" began blaring from the main house. Her eyes opened in time to see a flash of annoyance cross over Steve's face, plainly evident even in the darkness. "Want me to shoot them?"

"Depends on how long they'll keep this up."

"This specifically or in general? Because the latter may never stop."

"They're leaving first thing in the morning," Steve sighed to himself as a reminder.

"According to whom? Because the difference between 'first thing in the morning' to Phil and Tony is a difference of about ten hours." She moved her hand to grab hold of his arm and began sweeping her thumb back and forth along the inside of his elbow. "Will you be able to fall asleep? Because I really don't mind the target practice."

"I spent two years sleeping with a war around me, this is nothing."

"Don't let Tony hear you say that; he'll take that as a personal challenge." She waited for the faint flicker of a grin to pass before asking again, "You sure you're okay?"

"Do you think they see this whole thing as a joke?"

"No," she answered with certainty. "If they did they wouldn't have come, wouldn't have bothered with going through with all of this." She worried her bottom lip, concerned about the answer she would get to her follow-up question. "Do you see this as a joke?"

He turned his head on the pillow to face her. "Absolutely not."

She felt some tension between her shoulder blades loosen at the quiet resoluteness of his voice. "Good," she breathed. "That was my goal: to make this feel like a real wedding."

"Of course it was a real wedding; we had vows, rings, cake—"

"I mean, something-you-wanted-to-happen real. With me, at least."

"Natasha," he said as his hand moved from her stomach to bury fingers in her hair, "stop. I want to be in this, and I want to be in it with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm a sucker for a girl who points a gun at me. I should probably go talk to someone in psych about that." He leaned over and placed a kiss against her forehead. "Go to sleep already before you pass out."

The last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was adjusting to the feeling of the ring on his finger resting against her ear.


	24. Chapter 24

**NOTES:** Thanks to my awesome beta, the_wordbutler.

* * *

They had the estate to themselves for three days after the ceremony. Everyone cleared out of the place early enough the morning after, and even though the expanse of the property was theirs to do with as they pleased, Steve and Natasha spent most of their time either in the mother-in-law's quarters they'd claimed when they'd first arrived or poolside. It was a much needed respite to live without phones, email, and the constant threat of having to be pulled away somewhere because someone was up to no good.

They ate the leftovers from the reception or Steve cooked them something simple for their meals. There was nothing fancy or pressure-inducing about the three days—just relaxation. Natasha didn't realize how much she needed the rest until she had it. Even though the hours she worked had been reduced in the last few weeks, her job was stressful. Scratch that—her life was stressful.

It was on the second morning, while they were both still in bed, that Natasha brought up the topic of Steve's upcoming birthday. "Is there anything you want to do to celebrate?"

He shrugged before stretching and folding his hands behind his head. "Watching the fireworks again would be fun. But other than that, I don't really care."

"How old will you be?" she wondered aloud as she reached over to lightly draw patterns on his bare chest with her fingernails.

"Officially? Ninety-one, if we're counting the years in the ice." He rolled his head over a bit to get a better look at her. "I've known you for over a year, and I don't remember a birthday."

"That's because I don't know when mine is."

"Do you know how old you are?"

She shook her head. "Mid-seventies, eighties—not really sure."

He snickered and she gave him a confused look. "We're like a modern day Abraham and Sarah."

"Still not following."

"It's from the Old Testament. God promised them a child, but it didn't happen till they were really old."

"What'd they name their kid?" she asked as she propped herself up on her elbow.

"Isaac."

Natasha pulled a face. "I don't think that's going to work for our case."

"It means 'laughter'," Steve said, continuing with his explanation. "They apparently had a thing about naming their kids after the circumstances in which they were born or conceived. Or something they wished to happen for their people or themselves."

She considered his words for a moment, her hand continuing to trace irregular shapes on his torso. "If you were to do that for her, what would you name her?"

He closed his eyes as he considered his options. A moment later, he quietly answered, "Hope. I think she represents hope."

"_Nadezhda_." He opened his eyes and looked at her with confusion on his face at the foreign word she'd spoken. "It's how you say 'hope' in Russian."

"Say it again." He closed his eyes again in focus as she repeated the word, her tongue falling back into its native rolling of the vowels. "Nadezhda," he said, his accent a fairly accurate mimic of her own. He opened his eyes and rolled his lips at the thought. "Does that come with a nickname? Not that the word isn't pretty, just wondering."

"Nadia," Natasha replied.

He smiled at the name. "Nadia. What do you think?"

"You don't think it sounds too much like Natasha? She's already my clone, don't you think the name's too much?"

"Not really. Besides," he added with a hint of mischievousness to his grin, "she'll know you as Mommy, so what does it matter?"

Natasha turned her nose up at the title. "Mama or mother or mom. I don't do Mommy."

"Mama," he said, trying the word out for himself. "Does that mean I have to be Papa?"

"You can be whatever you want to be."

He allowed himself a grin before quietly replying, "I think I'll pick Daddy."

"Hmm," she hummed as she let her fingertips move down across his stomach. "So I'm guessing I shouldn't call you that when we're alone?" she asked, her voice purposefully taking on a husky note. "Would want your brain to get confused when she's older, looks just like me, and calls you Daddy."

His body went still as he thought about the implications. "Umm, no," he answered as he pulled her hand off of his body. "Let's avoid that, please."

Natasha laughed, even after he pulled the pillow from behind his head and gently tossed it in her face. He threw the covers back and began to climb out of bed, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down to the mattress. "Oh, c'mon." He lay back down despite the harsh look he gave her. "Sorry, things were just getting so sugary and sweet I was worried I was going to need a root canal."

"Well, at least we have one of the names figured out."

"She needs more than one?"

"You have a middle name, don't you? Alia-something?"

"Alianovna. But I don't know what it means or what it comes from. Not that it matters, since her full name's already decided now." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nadezhda Romanova Rogers. I just needed the first name."

A slow but blinding grin made its way across his face as he reached a hand out to gently rest on her stomach. "Nadia Rogers." He chuckled before looking at Natasha. "I know it's just for appearances and so that, if something happens, you don't have to worry about her being taken away, but thank you for giving her my name."

"Steve, she's going to be your kid, too. Not just in name. Of course her last name will be Rogers. Unless you've changed your mind about something, which in that case you'll want to remove your hand from my body."

"No, no, of course not. I made a promise, and I want to do this," he added before she could once again question his desire to be with her specifically and not just have a chance at a family.

"Good." She nodded. "Because if you skip out on helping with dirty diapers and puke and whatever else is expelled from her body, there will be no more sex for you."

"Can't have that, now can we?" he asked before leaning up to kiss her. It started out chaste, but it was enough to take a match to the gas fumes that were her hormones, setting her senses ablaze. She deepened the kiss and he moaned as she tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth. Natasha tried to press closer against him, but was impeded by her ever-expanding stomach. She broke away with a disappointed groan. "Just so you know, once she's born and old enough for us to slip away, we're having an actual honeymoon. One that will involve breaking things—furniture, records on sex, possibly limbs. I have plans."

"That's nice," he replied, his eyes still hazy, "but we're still doing this now, right?"

* * *

The following afternoon, Natasha enjoyed the simplicity of several things: sunshine, a lounge chair, and the fact that she could wear her old two-piece bathing suits despite her expanding midsection. She did not, however, enjoy the fact that her daughter was trying to stretch out like a cat finding a spot of sun on the floor. "There's not enough room for you to do that, knock it off," she chided, adding a gentle poke for emphasis. She didn't know whether to be proud or annoyed when she felt a punch in return.

Steve's shadow fell across her before she heard his greeting. She opened her eyes to see him standing over her, dressed in a t-shirt, blue basketball shorts, and his running shoes. "I'm going to go run. You need anything before I head out?"

"I'm good."

He nodded. "I have my phone on me just in case anything happens."

"We'll be fine, don't worry."

He gave her a smile before turning and heading off to get in his daily run of at least ten miles. Once he left, she had to stop and think about where she'd left her phone. She'd set it out yesterday afternoon when he went out for what he jokingly referred to as jogging, but she hadn't turned it on in three days. Normally, she hated not keeping up to date with the events of the world, but this reprieve was certainly welcome. It'd allowed her to feel the best she had in weeks.

Giving in to hunger, she headed inside a bit later. She sat at the small dining table after heating up some leftovers of the pasta dish Steve had cooked the night before. While she ate, her eyes fell on one of his ubiquitous sketchbooks lying on the table. Natasha was able to ignore its presence until she noticed a print of her most recent ultrasound picture peeking out from its pages. Sliding it closer to her, she pried the notebook open to the place marked by the photo.

She nudged the picture out of the way to fully reveal the sketch on the page. The image was modeled after the scan taken at her doctor's appointment earlier that week. Steve, with his artistic abilities, had cleaned up the picture with its graininess and distortions, leaving his interpretation of what her daughter would look like.

She traced the features drawn on the page, mindful not to smudge the lead. The similarities between their faces were more apparent now in the slope of the nose and the shape of the mouth. Natasha's finger skirted over cheeks that were already taking on a plump appearance before dusting over long eyelashes. She took note of the details he drew of the baby's left hand resting against her cheek all the way down to impossible small fingernails.

Her eyes fell to the bottom of the page where five letters were scrawled in his precise yet quick print.

_Nadia_

* * *

"Do we really have to go?"

Steve smiled as he loaded their bags into the trunk of the car the next morning. "We promised Fury we'd be back this afternoon."

"The world won't fall apart without us; well, without me, at least." She turned back to give one more look over the property that had been their home for the last few days. "Pepper rented out the place for the whole month, shame to let it just sit here."

He shut the car's trunk before walking over to stand next to her. "Everything okay?"

Natasha shrugged. "I just know what going back to the city means, and I'm currently dreading having to turn my phone back on."

"I didn't have any messages on mine when I went out running."

"Someone's probably blocking them from going through."

"Tony?" he asked.

"Wouldn't be surprised, sounds like his style."

The trip itself was spent in comfortable silence, and an hour later, they were pulling into the parking garage nestled underneath Stark Tower. JARVIS stopped the elevator a few floors early, and Natasha felt her stomach start to sour; seeing Phil standing outside in the corridor, arms crossed and serious expression etched on his face, didn't help matters.

"Was there an attack?" Steve inquired as he stepped off the elevator. He dropped their bags off to the side and out of the way.

"No, but we do have a situation," the handler replied before turning to Natasha. "I need you to understand that everything is under control."

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Team meeting, let's go," was his form of an answer. He led them through the double doors into the conference room the group used for meetings when they were at the Tower.

Natasha's instincts took over, and she began noting her surroundings to gather information. The rest of the team were already seated around the conference table: Tony was scowling at his phone, Bruce worried the hem of his untucked dress shirt with his fingers, Thor sat with his clenched fist resting against his mouth, but it was Clint who unsettled her the most. His eyes were locked on a spot on the table, jaw clenched, and arrow shaft rolling back and forth between his fingers. When he finally realized she'd entered the room, he looked up at her with a pissed off look on his face.

"Have a seat," Phil ordered.

She took the empty seat next to Clint while Steve sat on her other side. She looked over at the archer and saw an expression she'd seen a number of times in the field—he'd seen something that he didn't like and he couldn't find a clean shot to take care of the problem.

"This," Phil said while projecting an image over the table, "was taken four days ago. I'm sure you'll recognize the circumstances." The holographic photo displayed the group walking towards their cars after showering Steve and Natasha with rice immediately after the ceremony. Phil swiped at the air to show a new image: Natasha's fingers stretched out to remove some celebratory debris from Steve's hair. A final motion revealed a picture of the two of them kissing. All three images were taken at some distance, causing the pictures to appear grainy. While the detail may not be clear, if you knew who you were looking for—and by now the whole world knew what the team looked like, especially when they were together—identities were pretty obvious. And even if they weren't, her stomach and the glint off Steve's wedding band were. That alone had enough potential to send things down a dark road.

"Who took these?" Natasha asked.

"A woman who was tending the grounds at the time of the ceremony," Phil informed her.

Steve leaned an elbow on the table. "I thought everyone was cleared out."

"She was believed to be on vacation, but apparently her husband took ill and they came back early," the handler explained.

"And no one noticed the woman taking pictures with the cell phone?" Natasha demanded. Whatever bit of relaxation she'd felt an hour ago was long gone. She took a deep breath in an attempt to keep her temper in check. Clint muttered an apology; she ignored it. "How did these leak?" she asked while pointing to the trio of images now rotating around the table.

"The woman posted them to her Facebook page because she assumed it was just some strangers having a sweet moment. Apparently you got married on her anniversary and she felt a kinship that she wanted to share."

"Did she use our names?" Steve asked.

Phil shook his head. "No. But the images were reposted on other people's walls because of likes or comments. The grandson of our amateur photographer's friend was the first to hazard a guess at identities. That was two days ago."

"Why weren't we called?" Natasha said, trying not to yell.

"Because we have things under control," Phil told her, using his infuriatingly calm, I-have-this tone of voice.

"How bad is it?" Steve asked.

"Press picked it up forty hours ago. There's been speculation on all the major networks since."

Natasha closed her eyes and gripped her chair. This was bad. This was so very, very bad.

"Were details given?" She noticed how Steve's words were increasingly taking on his clipped Cap tone of voice, the one that meant business.

"SHIELD does not comment on the personal lives of its agents," Phil replied, and from his blasé tone of voice, you would've thought someone was inquiring about his shoe size.

"So what are people wanting?" Steve continued. "Interviews? Copies of the marriage license? Fighting over who gets to publish the first baby pictures?"

Natasha appreciated the venom in his voice at the last question, but she knew—and her theory was confirmed by the silence of the men around her—that the press was the least of their worries.

"Who's making threats?" she asked quietly, even though the question still caused both Tony and Bruce to flinch.

"It's being taken care of," Phil stated.

"What? Wait—" Steve sputtered. "Threats? People are threa—"

"It's being taken care of," the agent repeated.

Natasha felt twitchy all over that he wasn't disclosing more details. "Who's on lead?"

"Sitwell," Phil answered.

"We're not allowed to be part of that task force," Clint commented. "Apparently, they're worried we'd take excessive force."

"Aye," Thor agreed. "Anyone who threatens the well-being of a child deserves to have swift and strong justice brought down on them."

Despite the side conversation, Natasha kept her eyes locked on Phil. "Do I have to ask again?"

"Natasha, we—"

She ignored the words coming out of his mouth and turned to Stark. "I want names."

He tapped a few keystrokes into his phone. "Sent."

"Agent Romanoff!" Phil yelled. He took a deep breath to center himself before speaking again, his tone once again quiet, but the tightness in his voice was plainly evident. "The matter is being handled."

"I can handle the situation myself," she returned.

Her statement caused Bruce to lean forward in his chair. "She needs a mom, not a bodyguard."

"I thought they were one in the same?" she spat back.

He gave her a hint of a small smile. "Sometimes, but not always. If your eyes are always looking around for danger, you're never going to see her. Let us help you."

Tony nodded. "I could literally rain hell down on them right now."

"Care to make it a race?" Thor challenged.

"I'll cut both of you if you deprive me of targets," Clint said.

"Enough," Phil ordered. "This is exactly why SHIELD is trying to keep this as far away from us—all of us—as possible."

"Trying being the operative word," Tony muttered.

Phil ignored the comment and kept his focus on Natasha. "Jasper has three daughters, and he cares about you, too. He'll take care of this. Please let him do his job."

It wasn't until after a group dinner that she came out of her own thoughts long enough to realize that Steve hadn't said anything other than announcing he was going on a run since the discussion of threats started. She felt slightly bad for not paying more attention to him, seeing as he was now her husband and all, but she'd developed a singular focus since Phil broke the news.

Steve wandered into her apartment—their apartment now—a couple of hours later. She was sitting in bed reading the news and catching up on what she'd missed during their mini-vacation. Wordlessly, he stripped off his clothes, threw them in the hamper in the closet, walked into the bathroom, and showered. When he sat next to her on their new, oversized bed a bit later, he sighed trying to find the right words. She knew once he had them and could see them click into place in his mind as he reached out to rest a hand on her stomach.

"The doctor who created the serum, he said he picked me because I cared about doing good. Because I didn't want to go to war to kill people, but to stand up for what was right. But if someone were to put her in danger," he paused and shook his head, "those promises would go out the window.

"And I've seen what that kind of rage can do to someone with my abilities. And the fact that I would so easily go to that place should scare me, but it doesn't. Not in the least."

Natasha rested a hand on top of his, and he scooted down from his sitting position to rest his head on her slim shoulder. "I'm sorry," he apologized softly.

"For what?"

"Thinking the worst thing that could happen with those pictures getting out would be us having to go on some sort of press tour about getting married and having a kid."

"To be fair, that does sound like a pretty awful thing." She felt his cheek twitch in a grin against her shoulder. "Make you a deal—you focus on the threats of lesser danger, and I'll keep my eyes on the shadows. Between the two of us, we'll have everything covered."

"Deal."


	25. Chapter 25

**NOTES: **Thanks to the_wordbutler for helping me make my words readable.

* * *

They'd agreed on going out for a nice lunch for their one weekaversary—which, despite what Clint said, was not actually a thing. Natasha had only traveled back and forth between the Tower and SHIELD headquarters since they'd returned from their quasi-honeymoon, avoiding the crowded streets of New York City and the still-ongoing media buzz about their new marriage and child as much as possible, but Steve said she couldn't hide forever.

"Not every place you go to is going to have underground parking garages for you to drive to and from, and to hide in. You have to go out into public at some point," he'd argued that morning while they were getting dressed for the day.

"Wanna bet?" she'd challenged.

"Natasha, I don't want a child that's going to be raised in a bubble. I want to be able to take her to things—the park, a baseball game, the zoo. I want her to be able to experience life, not just look out at it from inside the Tower."

"I don't want her to be stalked by cameras at best and by people with vendettas against me at worst."

He'd frozen in the process of cinching his belt. "Do you trust me?"

Natasha'd known the pause she'd put in before saying yes wasn't the best reaction. But she did trust him—mostly, anyway. It was the rest of the world she had doubts about.

And now they were here for their pre-arranged lunch date that they were both to stubborn to cancel on account of their stilted conversation earlier. They silently devoured their lunches: hers, a dish of grilled chicken and pasta; his, a giant steak that would probably still moo if there was a voice box attached to the barely cooked slab of meat. The waitress warned them that there was press gathering outside the main and back entrances of the place as she cleared their plates and left the check. "Our manager is doing the best he can to make them clear out—"

"It's fine," Steve reassured with a polite smile as he placed the needed dollar bills on the table for the meal. "Thanks for trying."

Natasha waited until the young woman was out of earshot before commenting, "It was probably said manager who also called the press. I didn't see anyone on the way here. Did you?"

Steve shook his head, his jaw becoming visibly tighter. They rose from their private table and made their way to the main floor of the restaurant. "Front or back?" he asked.

It was a five block walk to SHIELD Headquarters where the pair of them were scheduled to meet with a recently-returned Sitwell to discuss his foray into squashing threats made against Natasha's daughter.

_Nadia,_ a voice in her head reminded her. She felt a spike in her heartrate; it was easier to compartmentalize security threats against her child when she didn't have a name.

She shrugged. "Might as well get this over with. Front entrance. No comments or answers to questions. Walk straight back to headquarters."

His hand settled into place on her lower back. Natasha held the straps of her shoulder bag with her right hand while the other came to rest on her stomach. She didn't want to draw any added attention to her belly, but it felt wrong not offering some little bit of protection.

Being in her line of work, she'd seen more pictures of people hounded by the press than she could count. Despite the power and strength embodied by the person being photographed, they always seemed to end up a bit hunched over, causing them to look weak and a little scared. It wasn't usually a problem for her to succumb that particular pitfall in the last year since the Avengers became a thing and she was recognized on the street, but this was different. The distance between the photographers and their shouted questions hadn't changed, but it was hard to keep calm with all the flashes, bodies, and demands of personal information surrounding her.

Steve's hand never moved from her back; it acted as a constant, slight pressure helping to propel her forward. His left arm remained at his side, only rising marginally when he felt people were pushing in too much and causing him to press into Natasha's side. Whenever his arm came up, she noted a small twitch in his fingers—some kind of phantom pain reaction to not having his shield in his grasp that also caused his white gold wedding band to flash its presence.

They'd made it a block ignoring demands for information about how long they'd been together, how things started, wedding details, due dates, and sex of the baby when a pink column of light shot down from the sky, touched the earth a mile or so away, and then rose back into the clouds just as quickly as it had appeared.

Everyone on the sidewalk froze, and Steve and Natasha were granted a momentary reprieve as the photographers turned in a futile attempt to catch the fleeting phenomenon.

"Asgardian?" Steve asked quietly into her ear.

The appearance of the chute of energy did seem to match what she'd observed the few times she'd seen Thor arrive on or leave his beloved Midgard. "I think so," she replied. Unless Thor was being called away unexpectedly, odds were it was the arrival of his friends— the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three—who had been charged with tracking down more information on the drone army the team had faced a little over two months ago.

Steve and Natasha increased their pace as best as they could amid the crowd around them but only got another block-and-a-half down the street when several similar chutes of light—this time a faint indigo—touched down with a loud crack. One of those locations being in the street twenty feet away from Steve and Natasha.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat a the sight of the purplish-blue conduits because she'd seen video of them before; her fears were confirmed when the steam of the energy beam contacting the asphalt dissipated enough to reveal four drone soldiers standing at attention in the street.

Steve immediately positioned his body in front of hers. "Get out of here," he ordered.

She knew she should follow his command, but part of her didn't want to leave him stranded and weaponless against the mechanical creatures. She longed for the weight of her Widow's Bite on her wrist and the pressure of her pistols strapped to her legs. She did, however, have a gun in her purse; she pulled it out, stuck it in the waistband of his pants, and slipped a couple extra clips into his pocket. As she did so, she noticed each of the drones' heads were scanning in a different direction. The four of them stood facing outward in a circle, each taking in details for their quarter of the perimeter. When one of them locked on to Steve, Natasha saw a light on the thing's face—if you could call it that—switch from blue to yellow.

"Run, Natasha," he snapped, his body poised to charge the thing.

She heard a projectile cock into place as the drone lifted its arm to take aim. Turning on her feet to bolt, the sound of repulsors filled the air as Tony made a hard landing in the street between the couple and the drones and brought up Steve's shield, which he'd brought with him, just in time to deflect the shot.

Stark turned to throw Steve his shield, which was caught nimbly and instantly found its place on his left arm, before letting loose with his own series of weapons.

Steve turned to Natasha. "Go," he ordered again as he reached with his right hand to pull the gun she'd lent him from behind his back. "Please, go."

His voice caught on the last two words and Natasha saw a fear in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She nodded.

Her options were to either run ahead to headquarters, turn back the way they came, or flee into the alley behind her. Moving forward put her in closer range to the drones. The sidewalk behind her was crowded with fleeing pedestrians, and she was afraid of getting jostled. That left the alley.

She turned and ran as quickly as she could. With every step she took, her fear rose. Fear for her friends who were her family, fear for her own safety, and fear for her child. She tried to shut down that emotion, to box it up and push it away so she could focus. The alley turned out to be a dead end. She was stuck with nowhere to go and only two knives on her person.

Before she could pick which door she wanted to break into in order to find shelter, the metal door to her right swung open. A middle-aged man stuck his head into the alley and swore as the sounds of gunfire and repulsors found his ears. He was about to duck back inside when he saw her. His eyes flickered back and forth between the action in the street and Natasha—specifically her stomach. With a shaking, outstretched hand, he invited her in; she didn't think twice about grabbing onto his large, dark fingers and being pulled into safety.

"What were you doing out there?" he demanded, his eyes shining brightly from adrenaline.

"Walking down the street," she answered as she dug in her purse for her cell. "What is this place?"

"Storage for sewage company records. My job to get them into the new digital system."

"You alone?" she asked.

He nodded. "Name's Leon."

"Natalie," she said as she punched in the code to let her eavesdrop on the Avengers comm lines.

The man shakily smirked at her. "If that's what you want me to call you, sure, I can do that." Natasha gave him a hard look, causing him to raise his hands in defense. "Not hard to recognize your friends out there, and God knows you and that Captain have been all over the news lately with rumors about your business. Not that I care, because it's your business, but I'm just sayin', I don't think there's anyone in the city right now who wouldn't recognize you."

He leaned in a little bit as if to tell a secret, even though they were alone. "I ain't gonna tell no one. You want to be Natalie right now, that's fine. But if you don't, that's fine, too."

She stared him down a moment, not quite sure what to make of the words, and settled on nodding. Holding the phone to her ear, she quickly picked up on the fact that Tony and Steve were facing the smallest party of drones that had appeared minutes before. Clint and Bruce were being assigned to take on another group a half mile away, but the largest number—totaling over a hundred—were in Central Park. From the sounds of the comm chatter, Thor and his newly arrived warrior friends were on their way there now.

SHIELD was dispersing agents, including names like Danvers and Drew, as well as calling in some of the X-Men to aid in the efforts.

Natasha and Leon both flinched when a loud boom sounded, strong enough to rattle the endless rows of shelves weighed down with manila file folders.

"What do you think that was?" he asked.

It wasn't the detonation of any weapon she specifically recognized, nor did it sound like anything Tony could produce with his suit. "I don't know," she told him. She hated not having information.

She also hated the tightening feeling that was happening in her stomach right now. It wasn't necessarily painful, but it did make her breath catch in her chest. The man picked up on her bit of distress and pulled over a stack of boxes for her to sit on. Promising he would return, he disappeared into the depths of the storage facility, returning a minute or so later with a bottle of water.

In the time he was gone, Natasha heard reports of a number of agents going down, of Tony being knocked unconscious, and Steve giving an update on his status.

She could still hear fear in his voice, a faint hint of it causing his words to come at a faster rate than normal. She desperately hoped his emotions didn't cloud his judgment or senses. She needed him safe.

"You okay?" Leon asked her, hovering nearby but not directly in her zone of personal space.

She nodded. The tightening had stopped for now. She greedily drank from the water bottle he'd brought her while keeping her ears open, not that the last part did any good since a moment later a steady hiss of static came through her phone. With a particularly violent Russian curse, she pulled the object away from her ear.

"Everything okay?"

"Our comm lines are being jammed."

"Everything else okay?" he inquired with a small wave of fingers towards her stomach.

"Umm, I think so?"

"Was that a contraction?"

Natasha shrugged. "Never had one before, so not quite sure." It was his turn to let loose a curse. "I'm not due for another nine weeks, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't actually," he said as he ran a hand over his sweaty face. "I don't know nothing about babies, so if you could keep that one inside you until this mess is over, I'd appreciate it."

"That makes two of us," she muttered.

They stayed quiet for the next ten minutes, the faint sounds of gunfire filtering through the walls. Half of her mind was focused on the mess outside, while the other focused on her stomach. She didn't feel any more tightening, but her daughter had gone still. It wasn't uncommon for the baby to nap at this time of day, but Natasha wanted reassurance so she poked at her stomach and gave a small sigh when she felt an elbow jab back in the same spot seconds later.

It was another twelve minutes before the gunfire stopped, and an additional three before Natasha felt safe enough to poke her head out into the alley. She saw cleanup crews pull up to the scene, where more than four disabled drones lay in the street. Seven, in fact—they'd received reinforcements.

"I'm heading out there, but you should stay here just in case," she told Leon. "And thanks."

He gave her a nod before she left the shelter of the storage room.

She felt a bit of relief to see Sitwell standing at the mouth of the alley, barking orders into a walkie-talkie, meaning they must've restored at least some forms of communication. The senior agent did a double take when she walked into his peripheral vision.

"Yeah, and tell Rogers we found her," he said into the handheld device before pulling it away from his mouth. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Natasha was about to nod when another tightening sensation took hold in her gut. She heard Sitwell shout for a medic while she focused on trying to catch her breath. It faded away before they had her on the gurney, and certainly before they whisked her away in an ambulance for SHIELD medical. She tried to tell them she was feeling better, but apparently she wasn't as scary as having to deal with the other people—Steve, Clint, and Phil to name a few—if they let her go.

She was quickly ushered into a room, hooked up to a fetal monitor, and was settled all of three minutes before Steve nearly took out the door to her room as he barreled inside. "What's wrong?" he demanded. He'd lost his button-up shirt at some point, leaving only a formerly white undershirt now stained with sweat, dirt, and blood covering his torso. His pants had stains on the knees and ripped halfway up the outer seam of his right leg.

"It's probably nothing," she told him before turning to the nurse. "Right?"

The older Asian woman gave them both a patented smile of reassurance. "More than likely Braxton-Hicks but Doctor McClellan wants to double check. She'll be here shortly."

"Shortly?" Steve questioned. "I didn't realize SHIELD had so many pregnant agents—"

"Steve," Natasha warned.

"Get her here now," he finished.

McClellan breezed into the room with a smirk on her face. "Well, I hear someone's mastered the overprotective father tone of voice already." She looked up from her chart to eye Natasha. "Are you causing trouble? Let's have a look."

Once the OB was done checking readouts from the fetal monitor and examining Natasha, she declared everything with the baby to be fine. "Just some Braxton Hicks, nothing to worry about. Make sure you're drinking plenty of water and maybe don't try and take down bad guys. I don't have a pamphlet to give you on that one; it should be common sense at this stage of the game." She scribbled down some notes in the chart before looking back up at the couple. "Agent Coulson wants you sent home as soon as I discharge you, but I'm guessing you'd rather be close to your friends?"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Natasha agreed.

McClellan nodded. "Well then, for safety's sake, we should probably keep you hooked up to the fetal monitor for a while longer. Just to make sure everything's okay." She added an exaggerated wink to make sure they both knew that Nadia wasn't in any real harm.

"Thank you," Natasha said as the doctor and nurse turned and left the room, leaving her alone with Steve. For a minute the only sound between them was the rapid beat of Nadia's heart rate being played from the fetal monitor.

"How is everyone?" Natasha asked.

Steve rolled a small stool up next to her bed and sat with a sigh. "Tony's still out—they fired an EMP that disabled his suit. He fell a couple of stories from the sky, but he should be okay in a few days. Clint has a concussion and rolled his ankle. Bruce is groggier than normal coming out of things, but that's probably more lack of sleep than anything else. We lost two field agents, four are in intensive care, a dozen or more with minor injuries, but that's it." He pinched his nose with a grimace, probably to fight off a headache from the look of his injuries. "Thor's buddies landed in just enough time to give SHIELD a heads-up that the drones were on their way. Not much of an advantage, but better than nothing."

She eyed him closely taking note of the lacerations on his face and his cut-open knuckles from punching metal barehanded. The black eye he sported would fade soon, and the cuts would scab over and be healed by morning, but that was just the physical injuries.

"You okay?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Sore, but I'll be fine." She kept staring at him until he sighed and looked down at his bloody knuckles. "I've never been so terrified in my life," he admitted quietly.

Steve leaned forward to place a hand on her belly and a kiss on her exposed stomach before letting his forehead lightly rest against the same spot. She reached down and ran her fingernails along his scalp, trying to ignore the bits of debris that she was inadvertently combing out of his hair. They sat quietly for a moment before Natasha threatened, "If you bleed on me, I'll blacken your other eye."

She felt and saw his shoulder shake in a brief chuckle before he sat back up. "I'm gonna clean up a little," he announced before leaning over to kiss her forehead. He made it the three steps to the open door of the attached bathroom before pausing and turning back to her.

"I understand why you want to hide her away now."


	26. Chapter 26

**NOTES:** First, if you didn't see the announcement on my tumblr, this story is moving to a biweekly posting schedule, which is why there wasn't an update last week. Life has gotten super crazy with really exciting things that are unfortunately eating into my writing time. And since the few final chapters are going to be a bit longer and I don't want to lose any quality of writing, this will be updated every other week from here on out.

Thanks as always to **the_wordbutler** not only for the beta but also for helping me think of interview questions for this chapter.

* * *

A week had passed since the drones attacked. Tony'd been released from medical three days prior, and the group had spent the following two days debriefing about and analyzing the latest battle.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had caught word that the manufacturers of the drones wanting to test the latest round of weaponized robots. The Asgardians made it to Midgard with barely enough time to warn SHIELD and the Avengers about the oncoming force.

There still wasn't a lot of information regarding the drones or about who had decided to use the Initiative as weapon testers. Thor's friends were set to depart Midgard the following morning to continue their investigations, but first, there was to be a party.

In all the chaos of the battle and time needed for injuries to heal, plans for Steve's birthday were set aside. Natasha wasn't sure what the original party entailed, and she was also unsure who'd organized for all of them—the team, Jane, Darcy, and the Asgardians—to now be in a bowling alley, of all places.

The one-time assassin had been relegated to monitoring the screens to make sure scores were accurate since the men in her life now refused to let her do or lift anything after her run-in with Braxton-Hicks contractions. She'd experienced them twice in the last week, but McClellan reassured her (and Steve, as well as everyone else around) that it was normal when Natasha'd gone in for her regular appointment two days ago.

Tony'd rented out the entire bowling alley to ensure some semblance of privacy for the group. The amount of food and beer (as well as some tequila Darcy'd smuggled in since Budweiser didn't affect Thor and his people) that was consumed over the course of the evening was staggering; apparently nachos were on the list of things Asgardian chefs needed to learn how to prepare.

Natasha made small talk with whoever wasn't up to bowl. She got herself caught up on the latest SHIELD gossip from Clint, learned opinions on Thor's friends from Darcy, and spoke to Hogun long enough for a brief discussion on what makes a good knife. But the one conversation that caught Natasha off-guard was the one with Sif.

It was a fear of Natasha's that people outside the team would learn the true story of how Nadia came to be, and the trepidation was intensified when it came to the Asgardians. She'd been reassured a number of times that Loki was locked away for good and that he could not cause her any harm, but Natasha could never quite fully believe those words.

When Sif sat next to her and stated quietly she'd heard a rumor about Loki taking interest in learning about spells about conception, Natasha froze. She didn't have a quick response and she cursed herself for falling into a lull and letting her instincts grow rusty.

Sif eyed her stomach for a moment before looking up and raising her eyebrows in a challenge for the truth. Before Natasha could even answer, she felt Steve's hand come to rest on her shoulder as he said, "Whatever magic he may have intended to cast on her didn't matter. She was already pregnant when he attacked, we just didn't know about it yet."

Sif tilted her head like an animal trying to decide if it was worth the energy to pursue a prey. Her gaze flickered back and forth between Steve and Natasha before she shrugged and left to refill her mug of beer.

Steve slid into the seat next to Natasha and she shook her head at him. "Just when I think I know what your poker face looks like."

He gave her a small smile. "Good to know I can keep you on your toes." He leaned in closer to keep his voice from carrying. "You okay?"

"I should've had a response planned."

"Natasha, it's fine."

"No, it's not. How can I protect her if I don't prepare for things like that and have a cover story set up?"

His hand came up to tuck a curl behind her ear. Whatever piece of advice he was about to share was cut off by cheers as Bruce, who apparently spent a good chunk of his youth bowling, rolled another strike. While Clint tried to explain to the Asgardians what a turkey meant, Steve leaned over to brush a quick kiss on Natasha's forehead. "I'm up next," he told her as he rose from his seat.

A couple of hours later, when it was decided that they should leave before the enthusiastic aliens did too much damage (both in the amount of food consumed and the eagerness with which they bowled) that Tony would have to buy the place as an apology, the group returned to the Tower. Natasha and Steve were both surprised when Phil stepped off the elevator with them onto their floor.

"Is he going to ask me to sign more stuff?" Steve stage-whispered.

Natasha turned and eyed her handler. "No, that's his 'I have to ask you to do something that I don't want to, but Fury isn't giving me a choice in the matter' look." The faint grimace lines that appeared at the corners of Phil's eyes and mouth confirmed her suspicion. With a sigh, she held her palm over the door sensor and led the two men inside. "Let's get this over with; I want to go to bed."

Steve and Natasha made their way to the sofa while Phil chose the nearby armchair. She caught Phil's fingers move up to smooth down his tie, but since he was wearing a t-shirt, they couldn't find purchase and instead came to rest on his denim-clad thigh.

"With the majority of last week's incident taking place in Central Park and the amount of damage done there, the Director would appreciate it if you two did some press to help the popular opinion of the Initiative."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "The public does realize that without us they'd have a lot more to worry about than having to repave sidewalks, right?"

Phil nodded. "Deep down, sure, but Central Park is crucial to New York, and it's hard for people to quickly erase the images of trees catching fire and fountains being destroyed from their minds."

"Why us?" Natasha asked. "Why can't you send Tony?"

"Because Stark wasn't recently married, nor is he expecting a child soon." He paused to give an apologetic shrug. "The public has been clamoring for something from the pair of you for the last two weeks since the wedding pictures leaked."

"It doesn't mean they should have it," Steve ground out.

"I agree," Phil soothed, "but no one besides about a half dozen people know the truth of all of this. You could do an interview and lie through your teeth, and almost everyone wouldn't know the difference. And those who would couldn't care less."

Natasha's eyes met Steve's and she gave a small shrug. "It might lessen the attention we get."

"Or it might make it worse," he countered. He ran a hand over his face before turning back to the handler. "When do you need an answer?"

"Today's Wednesday, they'd like to have it recorded and ready to go for this Sunday evening, and naturally have time to advertise for it. I can give you till tomorrow afternoon."

"Why do I have a feeling that this whole giving us time to think about it is just a ruse and Fury's already okayed it?" Steve challenged.

"Because you're finally getting the hang of how the Director works," Phil sassed with a smirk before turning to Natasha. "You know why we have to do this, right?"

She nodded. "When public opinion about us gets too low, it gives governmental types around the world reason to come after us and poke their noses where they don't belong."

"Sorry your night had to end like this," Phil apologized as he stood from the chair. "I'll give you details on who the reporter will be and where the interview will take place when I get them."

Steve walked the agent to the door before turning and leaning his back against the wall to stare at her from across the living room. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That, even more so now, we need to establish a cover story for all of this." She caught a flicker of something in his eye, but couldn't quite place it. "What?"

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck with his right hand. "I don't know. I just—what are we going to tell her? This lie or the truth? And if we tell her the lie, then how are we going to explain one day when she notices that she looks exactly like you or has some medical scan run and the doctor tells her that she's your clone? I just don't want her watching this thing in the future and thinking that if we lied about how things came to be, that we might be lying about other things, too."

Natasha closed her eyes and tried to think of something to say, but immediately realized that not keeping her eyes open was a mistake. The exhaustion that she'd been ignoring for the last couple of hours washed over her and nearly consumed her there on the spot. She shook her head in an effort to not instantly fall asleep sitting on the sofa. "Tomorrow. We'll talk about this tomorrow. I have to go to bed."

Steve pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to where she sat. Effortlessly, he helped to pull her to her feet before leading her into their bedroom.

* * *

After negotiating with the major television network who won the bidding war to land an interview with the couple, plans were put into motion. They would record the interview on Friday morning, giving SHIELD (namely Phil) time to edit out anything that might compromise either the couple, the Avengers, or SHIELD itself while also allowing the network to run small bits as teasers to advertise for the Sunday evening airing.

They arrived at the studio at an ungodly early hour to be run through hair and makeup. Steve mouthed an apology before taking a sip of the coffee some stagehand handed to him, and she tried to pretend her herbal tea included caffeine. She was unsuccessful.

The makeup artist, a curvy woman named Lola, tutted at Natasha while applying blush. "I wish my cheekbones would've stuck around as long as yours have when I was pregnant."

Natasha opened her mouth to retort that her bone structure had been swallowed whole a month ago when she caught her reflection in the mirror and for the first time in a while truly looked at herself. She tilted her face back and forth to see herself from different angles and was puzzled at what she saw. While they didn't look like what they did before in her pre-pregnancy days, is was still easy to spot definition in her cheeks.

Natasha waited until Lola put on her finishing touches before pulling Steve over into a quiet corner. "Look at my face," she whispered.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You look fine."

"No, I mean, _look_ at me. Does my face look different? Thinner?"

He studied her for a minute before shrugging. "I suppose so."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I'm not going to comment on the… roundness or lack thereof to a woman, especially when she's thirty-two weeks pregnant."

"Excuse me," a young man wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard interrupted. "We're ready for you now, if you'll follow me."

Natasha stalked after the production assistant and let him led them to the soundstage they'd be using for the interview. The set they'd chosen for the interview was ridiculous. Natasha could picture it in her head now: the cozy love seat the two of them would share, the overstuffed armchair angled in front of them for the reporter, and the roaring fireplace in the background. The last one threatened Natasha's sanity the most—both because it was July and also because the heat was going to make her sweat profusely. She imagined it looked all comfy and cozy on-screen; the ideal setting for the two of them to share their story of love with the world.

If only they had one to share.

Steve sat down next to her and shot her an apologetic look. Between her stomach and his broad torso, the loveseat made a tight fit; he had to drape his left arm behind her along the back of the thing in order to sit comfortably.

As the crew bustled around them making final adjustments, Natasha went over the talking points she and Steve prepared the day before about what version of their story they wanted to tell. They would say they started dating in November, and Natasha got pregnant shortly thereafter. She'd told him to make sure there was just a bit of truth in whatever other lie he told in order to sell their story properly. They'd act like newlyweds in love and put on a bit of a show for the public, and then leave and get back to their actual lives.

The reporter, a middle-aged woman named Susan, walked over and smiled as she reached out to shake both of their hands. "Need anything before we get started?"

Natasha shifted in her seat and felt a bit overwhelmed at the heat from the fireplace, the stage lights, and Steve's body crammed against hers. "I'm going to need a lot of water."

Susan nodded and made a gesture at a nearby assistant who quickly brought everyone on set a glass of water. "Now, I understand there some questions you won't answer, but," she added with a grin that was both regretful and cunning, "you can't blame me for at least trying to ask them."

Once everything and everyone was in place, the director let them know they were rolling. Natasha listened to the report give her introduction spiel about how two superheroes, one from another time and one from another country, had crossed paths and fallen in love. Once she was finished with her opening speech, she turned to the couple with a smile. "So, Captain Rogers, was it love at first sight?"

He chuckled. "Um, not quite. At least not love. Respect, yes."

"Attraction?" the reporter goaded.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "There may have been some of that, but we met shortly after I came out of the ice. I had a hard time taking interest in people around me at that point."

"When did you start taking notice?"

Steve looked over at Natasha as he pondered Susan's question. "Probably during the battle against the Chitauri."

"And you, Natasha, when did you start taking notice of him?"

She smirked. "Kind of hard not to notice him in the uniform."

Steve rolled his eyes as the reporter laughed. "Plenty of people who agree with you on that. So how did the two of you become a couple?"

Natasha quirked an eyebrow in Steve's direction and he gave a slight nod to let her know he'd field this one. "November of last year, we went out to dinner with a two other couples, so I figured I might as well see if I could swing a triple date."

"And obviously it worked out?"

Steve smiled. "As much as a date can when Tony Stark is part of the group."

The reporter politely chuckled before turning to Natasha. "So which side of him do you prefer: Captain America or Steve Rogers?"

"Steve," she answered quickly. She ignored the pause of the reporter wanting her to elaborate and instead took a sip of water. Once she was done, she sighed and began talking. "Captain America can be a little… showy."

"Showy?" Susan inquired.

Natasha tilted her head slightly. "Not like in a Stark kind of way, but in the former military posterboy and professional bond salesmen kind of way."

"Had you heard about Captain America prior to him being found in the ice?"

Natasha gave a sly smile and a nod. "One of my co-workers is a big fan. I'd heard a number of stories."

"And how did the stories compare to the real thing?"

She gave a small shrug. "I thought he'd salute more."

The reporter nodded with a small smile, figuring that was as much of an answer as she was going to get. "Same question to you," she said turning to Steve.

"I agree, I'd much rather be Steve Rogers than Captain America."

"No," the reporter chuckled. "Which side do you prefer: Natasha or Black Widow?"

Natasha caught a sparkle in his eye before he answered, "I think there are some days where the Widow is a little less scary than Natasha."

She quirked an eyebrow at him to let him know that he hadn't seen scary from her yet.

Susan looked down at her notes to double check her next line of questioning. "So you started to date in November. When did you find out you were expecting?"

"January," Natasha answered.

"Pretty quickly. Does that mean the baby was a surprise?"

"Yes," they answered simultaneously. "But," Steve continued, "I think it was a good surprise. _Is_ a good surprise."

The reporter leaned back in her chair. "Did either of you ever picture yourself as a parent?"

Natasha gave a small shake of her head. "Not really. My profession isn't the best for child-rearing."

"I'd hoped for it," Steve answered, sensing it was his turn to talk. "But I wasn't sure it was something I'd get the chance to do."

"And did talks of marriage come into the picture before or after you knew about the baby?" the reporter asked.

"After," Natasha admitted. "I can't imagine being with someone who'd bring that up when you've only been together for a little over a month."

The reporter shrugged. "I didn't want to assume anything. When did you initially realize that you wanted to marry each other? Not necessarily discussed it or anything, but decided that it was something you wanted with the other person?"

Natasha reached for her water in another attempt to stall for her answer. Steve cleared his throat before he began to speak. "There are so many little things, and the whole relationship is such a process… It's hard to pin down one moment." He paused to think a moment. "If I had to guess, it was, I don't know, a few months ago."

She looked over at him with eyebrows knit together—a silent request for more specifics. He sighed, an obvious sign that he was trying to play things close to the chest. "The morning after you slept in my recliner… You know, after that one appointment."

Natasha did know. That was when she'd told him that McClellan noticed for the first time that Nadia was on the small side. And his response, as she sat in his tub, was that she would figure out a way to handle it by herself. Of course he would pick the moment when she felt most alone as the time he realized he wanted to marry her. That made absolute sense.

But actually it did, because she remembered what the tone of his voice sounded like. And Natasha was pretty sure that was when he felt most alone, too.

It was hard to believe that only three months had passed since that morning. So many things had come and gone in those twelve weeks: them starting as a couple and falling into this relationship, zero talk of marriage to them having rings on their left hands, naming Nadia, and the decreased visibility of her feet.

"And what about you, Natasha?" Susan prodded. "When did you realize you wanted to marry him?"

She didn't think the words _right now_ were the best answer to give, seeing as how their wedding was two weeks ago. But for some reason that was the first thing that came to mind.

"Umm, probably around the same time," she lied.

Susan nodded. "And one of the questions on everyone's minds is: what was the wedding like?"

"Short and sweet," Steve replied.

"Intimate," Natasha added.

"You mean 'private'?" Susan questioned with a knowing look.

Steve gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Would you want all of America—even the world—to know exactly what happened at your wedding: what you ate, what you wore, everything that was said, the identity of every one of your guests? Our private lives are just that—private. And starting a family is challenging enough on its own. Add in everyone trying to stick their nose in your business…" He trailed off with a shake of his head before flashing a small grin. "No offense."

"None taken," Susan told him. "And no offense to you as I continue asking personal questions. For instance, do you know what you're having? And do you have a name picked out?"

"Yes and yes," Natasha answered. She let silence hang in the air after the three words were spoken to punctuate the fact that this was all the information she was comfortable saying.

"Again," Steve elaborated, "we'd like to keep some things to ourselves or as long as possible."

"Can you at least tell us if you're going to name the baby after anyone? Captain, perhaps one of your friends from the war or perhaps a family member?" Susan pushed.

"No, the baby isn't named after anyone from my past," he informed her tightly.

The reporter turned an expectant look to Natasha. "I don't know whether or not anyone in my family has the name we picked."

Susan picked up on the words Natasha left somewhat unsaid and leaned forward a bit. "Do either or you have family around? Captain, any distant cousins? Are there any grandparent-like figures in the picture? Or will your team members fill in for that role?"

Natasha fielded that one. "If they're willing to help change diapers, the guys can have any role they want." She neglected to leave out how Clint had proclaimed himself favorite uncle already, or how there was a discussion of each of them picking a day to spend an hour cuddling Nadia if they wanted—an idea brought up by Thor of all people at their previous team meetings.

Jane was in so much trouble.

"And take it from someone who has a unique point of view on society," Steve continued. "The idea of a traditional family is something that looks different to everyone you ask. Our idea involves a lot of superhero uncles."

"Natasha, do you plan on being a stay-at-home superhero?"

"No," she answered quickly and honestly. "I'm not really cut out for that kind of thing. I miss my work, and I'm looking forward to getting back to it."

"Do you think you'll struggle with finding a balance between family and your job?"

"Honestly, I haven't given it too much thought. I'm at a level where I can handpick assignments for the most part, which is a nice convenience to have."

The reporter turned to Steve. "What about you? Do you plan on becoming a househusband?"

He chuckled at the idea. "I'd probably handle it better than she would—"

"Definitely would," Natasha chimed in.

"—but for now, no. That's not the plan."

"Any big plans once the baby's here?" Susan inquired.

Steve and Natasha looked at each other before she gave a small shrug. "Honestly, we haven't really discussed anything."

He nodded in agreement. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the thought of becoming a father. Haven't really spent much time thinking beyond that."

The reporter shook her head slightly at him before turning to Natasha. "Does he always sound and seem to good to be true? Please tell us he has some flaw. Does he at least snore?"

"No, on occasion he'll talk in his sleep, but neither of us snore." She felt Steve shift ever so slightly against her and she shot him a look. He avoided making eye contact. "I don't snore."

His head bounced slightly from side to side as he apparently weighed his words. "You didn't snore." She shot him a dark look and his right hand came up in a defensive gesture. "It's not that loud, and it only started a month or so ago. It happens when you're pregnant, the book said so."

Natasha wondered what it would take to get Phil to edit out this portion of the interview.

Susan smiled. "Two more questions. Now might be a fun time to ask what the most annoying thing about the other is."

"He's too nice to tell me when I snore, apparently," Natasha shot back quickly. Steve's face crumpled into a look of guilt. "And don't you dare say there isn't anything I do that you don't find annoying. You've already ruined my reputation with the snoring, might as well keep going."

"You never make the bed," he responded quietly, causing Natasha to roll her eyes.

"Before things get too heated," the interviewer cut in, "final question: what's the one thing you admire most about each other?"

"She's fearless," Steve answered immediately. He turned to Natasha and the corner of his mouth tipped up in a small grin. "Yes, there's moments where she might seem a little uncertain about how things are going to turn out, but even before we became involved, that was what I admired most about her: how brave she is."

She gently jabbed her elbow into his ribs. "Don't make my hormones cry on camera," she muttered. After a short pause to arrange her words, she spoke up. "I could count the number of good men I've encountered in my life on my fingers. And none of them could hold a candle to him. He's just as kind and honest and good as you'd expect him to be."

Susan wrapped things up to the camera and soon enough, tech guys were taking down sound equipment, lights were shut off, and it was over. Steve shook hands while she gave nods goodbye; they changed out of the clothes the studio had lent them for the interview and dressed in their own attire. Eventually they found themselves in the backseat of the town car sent to ferry them to SHIELD headquarters so they could get to work for the rest of the day. Once Natasha swept for listening devices, she backhanded Steve in the chest. "That's for the snoring thing," she explained before resting her head on his shoulder. "Is it ridiculous that I could go back to bed already? It's what, just after ten in the morning?"

"You've already been up for a while." Her retort was swallowed whole by a massive yawn. Steve leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "Want to go home instead?"

She knew she shouldn't; she had work to do. But if she walked into her office, all she'd end up doing would be to fall asleep at her desk. "Am I supposed to be this tired?"

"You're growing a person, I think that can take a lot out of you."

She tried to take comfort in his words, but the uneasiness in the back of her mind wouldn't let her.


	27. Chapter 27

**NOTES: **Thanks, as always, to the_wordbutler for the beta. Only two more chapters and an epilogue after this.

* * *

Two days after they recorded the interview, the gang (minus a late Steve) was gathered in Tony and Pepper's penthouse for the traditional Sunday brunch. The current topic of debate was how exactly they were going to watch Steve and Natasha's interview on television that evening.

"Drinking contest," Darcy suggested.

Tony nodded his agreement. "Shot for every lie, three if they actually tell the truth about something."

"You'll be wasted by the first commercial break," Bruce warned.

Tony shot him a look of disapproval. "Have you met my liver?"

Clint shared his idea around a mouthful of bagel. "I say we keep points. Pause it after every question and see who can come up with the closest answer."

"That'll take forever," Phil chided.

Clint shrugged. "So? Most of us don't have to be in at work early tomorrow morning. Who cares?"

"I will ship you out to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night," Phil shot back.

"But who's gonna keep you warm in bed if that happens?" Clint replied, causing Phil to roll his eyes.

"Watch it, Barton," Tony called out. "Trust me—you do not want to piss off the little lady in the relationship."

Bruce scoffed. "If Pepper were here instead of California, there's no way you would've said that."

"I can still tell her about it," Phil threatened. "Besides, I'm not the lady in this relationship."

"It's true," Clint agreed from his seat next to Natasha on the couch. "I'm the one usually barefoot and in the kitchen."

"That has more to do with your aversion to footwear than anything else," Phil retorted.

"Please tell me you wear a Kiss the Cook apron," Darcy pled from her spot on the floor.

Clint gave her a purely smug look when he replied, "It doesn't say 'kiss.'"

Darcy groaned. "Gross."

Thor looked at her from his position still at the table, skepticism plain on his face. "I was not aware that you did not approve of two men being in a relationship together." His tone held the slightest hit of a veiled threat if she dared to insult his shield brothers.

Darcy waved him off. "No, of course not. I'm down with the gays. I'm just disgusted that someone as hot as Clint is stuck with someone as old as Coulson."

Phil paused in his crossword puzzle to stare the young woman down over the edge of his glasses. "Do you know how many ways I can make you disappear?"

Her shoulders bristled at the threat. "I ain't scared of you, G-Man." She returned Phil's stare for a moment before turning around to tell Jane, "You know what to do if I disappear, right?" The astrophysicist gave a thumbs-up.

"You know," Tony butted in, "if you have some anti-Agent plan in place, I'd be more than willing to help."

Natasha was only half-listening to the conversation around her. Clint must've caught on to that fact because he tapped his knee against hers.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked quietly.

She wasn't. Somewhere in the two-and-a-half weeks since her wedding, she'd picked up on Steve's habit of rotating his wedding band around her finger with her thumb. But this morning, she'd noticed how easy it was to slip the ring up and down the length of her finger.

Before she could answer, Steve—back later than normal from attending mass in Brooklyn—entered the penthouse. He gave a smile to Thor. "You saved me some food, right?"

The demigod grinned back. "You are usually here sooner than this. I make no promises on the state of the buffet."

"I had a couple of errands to run," he answered as he made his way to the spread of food. He paused as he grabbed a plate to turn to Natasha. "You want any—" His words trailed off as he caught the look on her face. "What's wrong?"

The two words caused everyone's attention to snap in her direction.

"My ring's loose."

Steve set his plate down as he took quick strides to kneel in front of her. Gently, he placed his hand over hers to see for himself if her words were true. And they were—the ring he couldn't get over the last knuckle of her finger at their ceremony now moved over the spot with little effort.

"It's like with my cheekbones," she commented. "Like I'm losing weight."

"Any chance you were just bloated or something?" Clint suggested.

"I don't know," she answered.

Bruce, now leaning forward in his seat across from her, also had an expression of concern on his face. "Any other symptoms?"

She shrugged. "My joints ache, I feel tired constantly."

"You got dizzy yesterday morning," Steve reminded her.

She waved it off. "Sat up in bed too quickly."

"Any issues with your appetite?" Bruce pressed.

She shrugged. "Still eating more than three meals a day, just not as much food. Don't have as much space for it anymore."

"I'm never getting pregnant," Darcy muttered.

Natasha waited for Bruce to ask another question, but her attention snapped to Thor rising from his chair and coming to kneel in front of her, next to Steve. He moved with a slow grace befit of his royal blood. Gently, he took her other arm and put it palm up in his grasp before letting his fingers manipulate the air just above her own skin in some kind of stroking motion.

"Is this Loki?" Steve demanded.

"Wait, what?" Darcy exclaimed. "What does that fucker have to do with anything?"

"He attacked us," Tony answered, his arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes focused on Natasha. "It's why she's knocked up."

She turned to glare at him. "Why did the government give you contracts when you can't keep a secret worth a damn?"

He shrugged. "That was mostly Obie and Pepper's work."

"Shut up," Jane snapped as she nearly stomped her way next to Thor. "Your brother attacked you again?"

"Jane—" Thor started before he was cut off.

"This is, what, the third time he's tried to kill you?" she shouted.

He rose quickly and bellowed, "We will—" He stopped himself and took a deep breath before speaking again in a somewhat softer tone. "We will discuss the matter later."

"Thor," Steve called, a faint pleading in his voice, "what do you see?"

The Asgardian sighed as he looked down at Natasha. "I am not well versed in the ways of magic. I can see the spell he put on you, but it has started to change."

"Into what?" Steve demanded.

Thor stared at her, his eyes focused on something she couldn't perceive just outside her body, until he shook his head. "Perhaps not so much changing as starting to fade."

His words caused Natasha's arms to wrap tightly around her stomach, the fear she'd had since the beginning of all this threatening to overtake her. "Am I going to lose her?"

Thor's eyes met hers, bright blue orbs that were ancient and had seen the vastness of the universe. "I do not know."

Natasha's breath caught as hot tears began to run down her cheeks. Clint's hand rubbed up and down her back while Steve did his best to say whatever reassurance he could think of, but she ignored them both. Instead she focused on the squirming movements of her daughter and tried not to be completely terrified at the thought of the sensations—and her child—leaving her.

"I'm calling it," Phil muttered as he rose from his seat. "JARVIS, tell McClellan to meet us downstairs in the medical ward."

"I will page her immediately, Agent Coulson," the AI responded.

"Can you walk?" Steve asked leaning a bit further into her personal space.

She nodded shakily, and with Steve and Clint each taking a side, she got up and made her way to the elevator, Thor and Phil close behind.

"We'll take the next one," Bruce announced. "See you down there."

Once in the elevator, Natasha kept hold of Clint's hand in a tight grip while leaning the left side of her body against the front of Steve. She tried her best to stop her silent crying so as not to leave a puddle on the front of his button-down but was only mildly successful. Her husband's right hand rested on her lower back while his left came to rest atop of hers on her stomach. The overhead light in the elevator caused his wedding band to flash, and for the first time, Natasha wondered what would happen to the two of them if she lost Nadia.

Everyone remained quiet for the short ride down to the thirty-second floor where Tony'd set up a medical ward exclusively for the team. A birthing suite had been added onto the floorplans a few months back, and it was there the nurses wheeled Natasha. She usually met with her OB in the Tower, but typically her appointments were in an exam room, not here. Natasha hadn't planned on being in this room for another seven or so weeks.

Clint and Steve helped her change into a gown and ease into the bed while Thor and Phil debated.

"You said five months ago you could ask around Asgard for help."

Thor shook his head. "That was to remove the spell altogether. At this point, I am not sure what could be done."

"Could someone strengthen or prolong the magic?" the handler asked.

"I do not believe that would be wise. Without knowing exactly what Loki conjured, it might cause more harm than good."

A nurse came in and hooked a fetal monitor around Natasha's stomach and checked the vitals of both her and the baby.

"Your friends are waiting in the lobby," the nurse announced before turning to Natasha. "You're at capacity for visitors." The woman—Mary, according to her badge—made a few more notes in the chart. "Doctor McClellan should be here shortly. Do you want to listen to the heartbeat while you wait?"

"Yes," Steve and Natasha answered in unison.

Phil and Thor put their discussion on hold so the only sound once the nurse left was the fast and steady rhythm of Nadia's heart. Natasha took a deep breath and tried to get her emotions under control; Clint handed her a wad of tissues and she muttered her thanks as she wiped tears off her face.

Two minutes later, McClellan breezed into the room. She lacked her usual smile and sarcasm; today, her face was all business. "If you are neither my patient nor married to her, get out."

"Due respect, Doctor—"

"Shove your respect, Coulson. This is a medical ward, and here the doctors are king; I don't care what your clearance level is. I will be completely thorough with my notes and perfectly follow all the necessary procedures and forms, but if you don't get out, I swear to God I'll fill everything out in crayon and cover the damn things in My Little Pony stickers."

"She's my asset," Phil argued.

"She's my patient," the doctor shot back.

Clint stepped away from the section of the wall he was holding up to quickly brush a kiss on Natasha's forehead and ghost his fingers across her bare belly before moving towards Phil and Thor. "C'mon," he said as he took hold of Phil's arm and began to lead him from the room. Thor followed behind the pair and as they reached the door, Clint turned to Steve. "We'll be right outside when you need us, Cap."

Steve nodded his acknowledgement before asking the doctor what was going on.

McClellan waved him quiet while focusing on Natasha. "Talk to me," she said.

It wasn't Phil's voice saying those three words on a comm, but Natasha's mouth reacted the same way regardless. "I'm never not tired. I ache constantly, and I think I'm losing weight."

The doctor flipped through the chart in her lap. "Says here you've gained point-two-seven pounds since I saw you almost a week ago. That's not quite the average amount, but it's at least in the right direction."

Natasha shook her head. "I can see my cheekbones again, and my wedding ring is loose."

McClellan's mouth formed a tight line as she made notes. "And the exhaustion?"

"I've been tired before—stayed up days on end for a mission or I've been sick or injured, but it's never been this bad."

The doctor gave her a harsh look. "Why haven't you said this to me before now?"

Natasha shrugged. "Never been pregnant before. I thought feeling this way was normal."

"What's your body telling you?" she asked.

All the red flags and warning bells Natasha'd brushed off came to mind with a vengeance. "That something's wrong."

McClellan nodded. "From now on, I need you to not only listen to your body but also to let me know what's going on. Now, let's check things out."

The doctor went through her usual battery of pokes and prods with the added bonuses of blood tests, a complete physical, and an ultrasound. After the forty-five minutes it took to get through everything, McClellan sat on the stool next to Natasha's bed with a faint sigh. "Both of you look at me and hear this next sentence." She paused to make sure she had their undivided attention. "Your daughter is fine."

Steve squeezed Natasha's fingers so tightly she was scared bones would break. They'd been reassured during the ultrasound that everything looked normal, but the confirmation was nice to have.

"Her heart rate is a little fast," the doctor admitted, "but I'm sure that's just because Mom here is a little stressed. She'll calm down when you calm down. And, yes, I realize those are the most pointless orders a doctor can give a patient."

"So what's happening?" Natasha asked.

McClellan shook her head. "I'll know more when I get blood results back in a couple of days."

Steve cleared his throat. "Thor said something about the magic that caused her pregnancy wearing off."

The OB's hands came up to silently ask him to stop talking. "I don't do magic; I can't quantify it, it doesn't show up on a scan, and there aren't medicines to counteract it." She closed Natasha's medical file with a clap. "When was the last time you felt even marginally normal?"

Natasha shrugged. "The week we got married, I guess."

"Why?"

"I wasn't doing all that much."

McClellan gave a sharp nod. "Suspected as much. Well, congratulations, you've earned yourself bed rest." She ignored the faint whine from her patient and kept talking. "I'm placing you on medical leave immediately. I'll have Coulson lock you out of the system if need be."

"That won't be necessary," Steve promised. "You've been concerned about her blood pressure in the past."

The doctor shrugged. "It's still higher than I'd like, but not dangerously so."

"Could that be causing some of this?" Natasha asked.

McClellan sighed as she gave the idea some thought. "I don't think so. I'm not saying it might be somehow related, but I don't think it's a primary symptom or cause."

"And the joint ache?" Natasha questioned.

"Unfortunately for you, that's typical of pregnancy."

Steve nodded. "So what do we do now?"

"She isn't showing any signs of preterm labor, which is great seeing as how you're now four weeks out from the magical thirty-seventh week and earning your full-term badge. I want to keep a close eye on you, but since you live in the building, I don't see why you can't go back to your quarters."

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"But there are going to be rules." The doctor paused to give a look to Steve to make sure he was taking note and would enforce the law she was about to lay down. "You're not going anywhere. You are not to be on your feet. The only places you're allowed to walk is from your bed to your bathroom and back. I want you resting as much as possible. That nearly constant urge to nap? Give in to it. Also, eat as much as you want, the higher the calorie count, the better." She paused to lean forward on the stool and look her patient right in the eye. "And if you have the feeling that anything else is off—and I mean _anything_—you call me. Immediately."

"Promise," Natasha swore.

"Good. I'll get you guys out of here as soon as I can. Labs should be back on Tuesday."

"Is it okay for her to leave the apartment for appointments?" Steve asked.

"You guys are an elevator ride away, and I don't mind making house calls, if that's alright with you."

"I'll try not to go stir-crazy by then," Natasha voiced.

McClellan gave her a wry look and tried not to laugh. "But for now, go home and rest. Stay off your feet and stuff your face."

The doctor left with the promise of debriefing their team members, and Steve and Natasha took her up on her offer to shoo everyone away so the couple could go back up to their floor in peace. Once there, Natasha made a beeline for their bed, stripping her clothes as she went. Steve followed behind her to pick up the discarded clothing items and to try and not hover. When she climbed between the sheets wearing a sports bra and underwear, a mass of white cotton landed near her face. She pulled on the undershirt Steve'd tossed her way with a grateful sigh. "I thought you were worried about these getting stretched out." Steve shrugged in response as he moved about the room keeping himself busy. She called his name and he turned towards her slowly, the look on his face pulled even at her cold, hard heart. "C'mere."

He sat on the side of the bed with his back to her, but still within arm's reach. "I should've made you go sooner," he said quietly.

"Steve, I've seen McClellan four times in the last three weeks. If she didn't notice, no one can be blamed."

"But you said you thought something was wrong. You tried to tell me as much."

"Well, then I'm the one to blame." She tugged on his arm until he gave in and stretched out next to her. "This is new and different for all of us. We've never been parents before; McClellan's never had a patient knocked up by some alien throwing a magic bomb. We were all kind of stupid to think things would go normally."

Steve kept his eyes on the bulge of her stomach underneath the sheets, but made no effort to touch her. He stayed silent for a couple of minutes before quietly saying, "You shouldn't've said yes. You should've turned down my offer."

"What are you talking about?"

"Bad things happen to the people I'm closest to—my parents, my best friend. You shouldn't've said yes."

"Look at me," she ordered. She waited a moment until he met her gaze with tired and lost eyes. "Don't ever say that again. I make my own choices on how I want to live my life, and I chose to spend it with you. Don't you dare cheapen my freedom to pick how I should spend my life." He tried to look away again, but she caught his jaw in her hand and kept his focus on her. "Stop this. I need you; she needs you. If something happens to me, I need to know you'll be here to take care of her."

He nodded and mustered an attempt to look determined. "I promised I'd stick around."

"Good. Because if you leave, I'll go crazy worrying about things."

"Can't have that," he responded as he reached over to sweep a thumb back and forth along her cheek.

She tried to best to take in the pleasantness of the physical contact and not about her thinning face and fingers. "How long do you think it will take for the guys to bust in the door?"

"JARVIS?" Steve called out.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Set up the privacy lock. Tell the others we'll talk to them when we're ready. Six tonight at the absolute latest."

"Of course, Captain Rogers. I will give them a five-hour countdown."

Natasha turned her head slightly to place a kiss on the inside of his wrist as a thank you. Her hand came up to cover his. "Stay," she asked.

"I just said—"

"No, I mean, now. I know you're probably hungry, but just stay here 'til I fall asleep."

She felt small and childish for asking such a thing, but her mind was drenched with fear and she didn't care.

* * *

After a team meeting in Steve and Natasha's bedroom that evening—the one and only time such a thing would happen—Thor set off for Asgard to search for help on Natasha's condition. Phil made a rotating schedule requiring two people per day, one to keep each of Nadia's parents sane and distracted for at least a few hours. Steve argued that he didn't need to be babysat, but Natasha was grateful when Phil outright ignored him.

By the fourth full day of bed rest, Natasha was starting to go a little crazy. Her body ached from staying still. She was grateful she had the option of sitting up in bed if she wanted instead of constantly having to lay prone, but already the walls were boring and her mind grew twitchy at being stuck in one spot.

It was a Thursday, and therefore Thor's day to keep her distracted, but instead of a mountain of an alien prince, it was Darcy Lewis who arrived at Steve and Natasha's quarters. "Hey," she greeted with a little finger wave as she stood nervously in the doorway to the bedroom.

"You're not Thor," Natasha observed dryly.

"Uh, no. He and Jane are trying to start an intergalactic verbal war," she explained.

Natasha nodded, unsurprised. Thor'd returned Tuesday to inform Natasha that not even his mother could offer assistance without possibly doing more harm than good. The Asgardian had spent all day yesterday in the usual debriefs that happened whenever he returned to Earth, even if he was gone for less than forty-eight hours. Which meant that this was the first chance Jane'd had to have it out with Thor for not telling her about Loki's attack last November.

"How bad?" Natasha asked.

Darcy's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "Bad. I mean, she won't dump him over it, mostly because I'd kick her ass for that, but he won't be getting any for at least a week."

Natasha snorted. "Well then, what are the two of us going to do to kill time?"

Darcy smirked. "Okay, confession: I've daydreamed a time or two of you saying that to me while in bed, but this is not how I thought it would go."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You going to just stand there? You can sit; I won't bite."

Darcy shuffled over to the bed and sat down on Steve's side. "So where's Mister Perfect?"

"Tony has him down in the workshop punching things," Natasha answered. She was grateful that Steve had that distraction and physical release. This week hadn't been fantastic.

McClellan made a house call two days ago to inform them that Nadia was living fully up to her parasitic nature. The doctor didn't apply magic to Natasha's case, but Thor confirmed the doctor's finding: the spell was causing Natasha's body to do everything it could to sustain a pregnancy—something that was not supposed to last as long as it had. Whether it was because of the presence of Natasha's bioenhancements or something else entirely, Nadia had stuck around, but now the enormous amount of energy it was taking to maintain the pregnancy was being stripped from the rest of Natasha's body. Her face and extremities were thinning in order to keep the organs involved in growing Nadia and preparing for her arrival strong and healthy. Natasha would've been fine with her breasts going back to their normal state, but apparently that wasn't going to happen since they were needed once the baby was born. Natasha imagined she was going to eventually look like a stick-figure with a barrel for a torso and abdomen.

Well, depending on how long she lasted. Because that was the other thing McClellan mentioned: now that the doctor knew what trends to look for, she'd gone back through Natasha's records and developed an estimate for how things would progress. The results weren't good. Even with bed rest to help Natasha expend as little energy as possible, it was still doubtful that Nadia would be able to remain in utero until her due date. It was also incredibly likely that she'd have to be delivered via Caesarean section.

Thor's news wasn't any better. His mother had informed him it that it sounded like Loki had applied a spell modified from one that was used on women desperate for children. They would get pregnant, but it was unlikely that the child would survive to birth, and if it did, rarely did the mothers live long after delivery.

So, yes, Natasha was incredibly grateful that Tony had given Steve the opportunity to destroy things with his bare hands because he needed to take his aggression out somewhere. The man had barely said two words in as many days, and probably hadn't slept more than a few hours.

"What are we going to do?" Darcy asked.

Natasha sighed while she mulled over her options. She didn't want to think about having to do this for a little over six more weeks. Mostly because it made her wonder if she had six more weeks.

She pointed to her dresser. "See the strip of paneling between the second and third drawers?"

"Yeah?"

"Go press on it for three seconds."

Darcy looked puzzled, but did as she was told. Once pressure was applied on the section for a few seconds, there was a small hiss before the panel moved outward and revealed a secret compartment. "Awesome," the young woman breathed.

"Pull it out and bring it here. Then under the sink in the bathroom grab a rag and a couple whetstones."

A minute later, Darcy was back on the bed looking over the tray of blades she retrieved for Natasha. "Dude, you are so badass."

"Don't feel like it at the moment. You ever sharpened a knife?"

"No."

"Wanna learn?"

"Hell yes," Darcy answered with a grin.

Natasha gave Darcy a run through of the proper angle to hold the blade and the correct way to run it against the whetstone, and she was impressed at how quick of a study she was. "Not bad."

"Thanks. Any chance I can see your guns after this?"

Natasha shook her head. "Clint helped me clean them all yesterday. Apparently, this is my version of nesting."

Darcy gave a happy sigh while she sharpened her knife. "You're my lady hero."

"Thanks." Natasha half-grinned. "So, how are you liking New York?"

"Meh, it's okay. I love the city, it's amazeballs, but my job is just… Like I know I'm not science-smart, but Jane never made me feel dumb about it. Eric did a time or two, but then Jane always chewed him out over it. But these SHIELD guys?" She paused to shrug. "It's the worst walking into a place and feeling horrible and awkward because you know you don't belong there."

"So quit."

Darcy looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Do you know how hard it is to find a job right now? And besides, SHIELD, while being shady as all get out, has awesome benefits and pay, and my student loans aren't going to pay themselves back."

Natasha shrugged and her ears picked up on another person entering the apartment. "Lady Natasha?" Thor's voice called out. She needed to have a talk with JARVIS about letting people in without knocking; apparently the AI was all for as many eyes monitoring her condition as possible.

"In here," she called out.

The Asgardian strode into the room, eyes bright and jaw tight. He caught sight of Darcy and almost flinched before nodding in her direction.

"Dude," Darcy groaned. "Please don't tell me I have to go talk your crazy girlfriend down off of a rage binge." Thor made no move to respond. "Ugh, you owe me so freaking big."

"Verily," Thor replied.

Darcy rolled her way off the bed and threw a glance over her shoulder at the blades still spread out on the mattress. "You mind if I borrow one of those?"

"Just make sure it's clean when you give it back to me."

"You will not bring the Lady Jane harm," Thor warned.

"Think you've done enough of that for the both of us, big guy," Darcy told him. He shook his head, and his fists clenched at her words. She walked over to him and patted him on the arm. "I was only halfway kidding. But not about the owing me. So big, dude. So big."

With that, the young woman left, and Thor began to pace across the bedroom floor. Natasha shook her head at him. "You're going to drive me crazy. Sit down or something."

His large frame collapsed onto the mattress with a weary sigh and stretched out on the bed next to her, arms behind his head. "I was not trying to hide things from Jane, despite what she thinks. I was merely trying to protect her. She believes she does not need such protection but she has not seen what I have. She is strong and brave, but…"

"She's yours and fragile and you want her as safe as possible," Natasha finished, her fingers running over her stomach.

"Is that why you did not consent to the suggestion of attempting to birth the child now instead of waiting longer?"

Natasha nodded. "She's not ready yet. She's under four pounds, and her lungs haven't finished developing."

Thor stretched out his hand until it was hovering over her stomach. "May I?" Natasha nodded and his fingers spread across the front of her belly. A smile crossed his face as he felt Nadia give him a kick. "A fierce warrior, much like her mother."

While that could be true, Natasha didn't want to put her daughter to the test. McClellan had offered to deliver sooner than the due date and stated that she would recommend such a course of action of Natasha's health grew too concerning, but she couldn't agree with putting her child in the world sooner than she should be. She and Steve had fought about it that night, but she remained adamant that she would go against voluntarily delivering before the baby was full term. If she couldn't last until her due date, she'd try her best to make it to thirty-seven weeks when everything was done developing, which meant three weeks and two days for Nadia to stay safe.

"Who besides your mother knows about Loki's involvement?" Natasha asked, her brain always on the lookout for potential enemies and weak points.

"No one," Thor promised.

"Sif?"

"She'd heard a rumor, from my mother no doubt, about the spell being put into effect, but she believed the Captain when he told her the child was conceived naturally."

"And your mother isn't going to tell people?"

"No," he swore. "She was merely inquiring for further information about the spell. It has been quite some time since it was last seen. But there are still some who remember its power, and even a few who exist because of its magic."

"And they turned out okay?"

Thor withdrew his hand from her stomach and shrugged. "They live life as best as one can without a mother."

"So that it? Either she lives or I live? No third option?"

"The third option is for neither of you to survive. If there has been an instance of both the mother and child surviving, I do not know of it."

Natasha swallowed around the lump in her throat. She'd known in her bones this was a possibility since the beginning. But months later, after feeling Nadia move and hearing her heartbeat, it only solidified her greatest fear of losing her child and having to live with that for the rest of her potentially very long life.


	28. Chapter 28

**NOTES:** Thanks as always to **the_wordbutler** for helping me clean my words.

Fair warning: This chapter and the next are going to be pretty angst heavy. This chapter includes a night terror.

* * *

Two days after her discussion with Thor, Natasha awoke in an empty bed. Sleeping was what she did most of the time now, but rest never came easy. On top of the physiological reasons—Nadia weighing down on her bladder, muscles sore from disuse, heartburn—there was the endless onslaught of doubts and fears bouncing around in her mind.

She was about to ask JARVIS where Steve had gone when she heard rustling paper coming from the nursery. After a stop in the bathroom, she made her way to the pale yellow room. When Steve spotted her, he gave her a stern look for being on her feet. She ignored the silent disapproval, but accepted his help in getting situated in the rocking chair and propping her feet up on the footstool. "What's all this?" she asked while gesturing to piles of boxes on the floor.

"Baby shower presents," he answered.

"Oh," she replied. There were to be two different showers—one thrown by SHIELD, which was a terrifying thought, and the other a more personal gathering with just the team. If there was one advantage to her medical situation, it was getting to skip out on opening presents in front of people and playing ridiculous games. "We never registered anywhere," she remembered out loud.

"Sitwell and some of the other agents who have kids came up with a list of things to get us. You want to open these?"

"Go ahead. JARVIS, keep a record of who got us what."

"Of course, Agent Romanoff."

Steve spent the next fifteen minutes announcing whoever gave them a gift, unwrapping the present, and putting everything in neat piles. There were bibs, bottles, and bath toys. Natasha felt extremely grateful that other parents put together a collection of things they needed because she had no idea what that list entailed. He smiled when he opened a card and a box, but didn't remove the contents. "You'll appreciate this one," he told her as he passed the gift into her hands.

The card read _Hank says this will put hair on your chest. Maybe that explains why he looks the way he does. Welcome to parenting. –The McCoys._ Inside the box was a bottle of vodka. She snorted when she read the label. "Not the best or most potent, but I'm impressed a non-Russian acquired something this good, at least."

She heard Steve chuckle under his breath as he opened another present. "From Tony and Pepper," he said as he held up a pair of slings that could be draped across their chest so they could have Nadia held against their bodies while their hands were kept free.

Natasha eyed the material closely. "Is that Kevlar?"

Steve nodded. "You really expect anything else from Tony?"

"He knows she's not going into battle any time soon, right?"

"I'd prefer she never went into battle," Steve muttered. He grabbed a large, flat box and handed it over to her, unopened. "I already know what this one is."

Her nails neatly and quickly stripped the box of the wrapping paper covered in little ducks. She pulled the lid off and saw the contents within: eight rows of onesies, each row containing similar designs that increased in size.

"They each designed a shirt, and weren't excited about the idea of her not getting to wear all of them before she started getting too big, so they replicated them in different sizes so she could get plenty of chances to wear them all," Steve explained.

The onesies in the furthest row to the left were made of purple cotton, and she didn't need to look at the card to know they were Clint's gift. She pulled the smallest size from the front and unrolled it to read the front. In white lettering, the words _If you think I'm cute, you should see my Uncle Clint_ were silkscreened. Natasha rolled her eyes but felt the corners of her mouth creep up in a smile. She carefully re-rolled the garment and put it back in its place before pulling out the next one.

Phil's design was on white with navy pinstripes. On the front was the logo for the Brooklyn Dodgers. "Kiss ass," she muttered under her breath. Natasha shot Steve a look. "She's not wearing these every day."

"Only on days when we're watching baseball together," he replied with a small smile.

The third row was a distinctive shade of red, and Natasha once again didn't need to look at the card to know who the gift-giver was or what the design would be. Tony had created a series of onesies that mimicked his Iron Man armor, including a flat circle representing the arc reactor. "If you double tap it, it lights up," Steve informed her. She followed his instructions and shook her head with the circle began to faintly glow.

"It's not going to overheat or anything, right?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe we shouldn't leave it on too long."

Next to the mini-suits was a series of white onesies, each with a unique piece of art on the different sizes. "Rothko," Natasha breathed as she ran her fingers over the selection of paintings.

"Pepper said she wasn't sure which piece was your favorite, so she picked some of hers."

Natasha held up the one with displaying _Four Darks in Red_ and noted the tag that read twelve to eighteen months. Her breath caught and she felt hot tears sting her eyes.

"Natasha?" Steve asked quietly as he moved to sit on the edge of the footstool, his hand wrapping around her calf and rubbing it gently.

"I'm never going to see her wear this."

It took him a minute to find words of reassurance. "You don't know that. People are working on finding an answer."

She set the garment down in the box and looked at him. "And they're coming up empty." She slid the box off her stomach and onto the floor before fanning her fingers over her belly. Nadia was napping at the moment, and Natasha resisted the urge to poke her and see if she would wake up. "I'm not going to see her wear these. I'm not going to know her."

Steve's hand tentatively reached out and covered her fingers. "You already do know her."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. I'm not going to know what she looks like, or what her first word will be, or what she'll want for Christmas presents."

"You don't know that," he reassured her. "You could beat this spell. Or…" he trailed off with a shrug.

"No, don't you dare," she hissed. "Don't even think that we'll lose her. That is not an option. Besides, you've heard McClellan's reports—she's healthy and growing. It's me that's fading away."

He didn't try to respond, just kept his hand over hers and waited silently. When Natasha couldn't stand the thoughts buzzing around in her mind anymore, she reached over and picked up the box of onesies her friends had personally designed for means of a distraction.

The next row, the card told her, was from Bruce. The material was black, and in white on the front was the periodic table of elements. The garments next to it were once again obvious in letting Natasha know who was giving the gift. They were grey, and had black lines and circles depicting a miniaturized version of Thor's armor, complete with detachable red capes.

The following set was also made of black cotton—apparently a theme for the scientists—but for the front Jane had elected to put a star chart of the Northern Hemisphere. The final row, from Darcy, contained a near neon green row of onesies with _Pinch my cheeks, I dare you_ written in black. The phrase caused a small, and silent huff of laughter to come from her mouth, but it only served to brighten her mood for a quick second.

Natasha set the box down once more and looked over the scope of gifts they'd received. Part of her wanted to think of places to store everything; part of her said it wouldn't matter because she'd never get the chance to use them. She closed her eyes and dug her palms into her sockets.

"Your brain not shutting up?" Steve asked quietly.

His fingers were still massaging her left calf. She tried not to notice how much smaller the muscle felt in beneath his hand. "No, it's not."

"Do you want to stay in here?"

She shook her head no, and he stood and lifted her into his arms. She was grateful when he made his way into the living room and not back to the bedroom; a change of scenery, even one this small, would help distract her.

"Need anything?" he asked. She told him no, so he sat down on the sofa next to her. Scooting over a bit, she then lay on her side with her head in his lap. "You know," he said as he flicked through the menu of available shows to watch, "I never did finish that series of presidential documentaries we started watching that one time."

She remembered the evening he was referring to, the first time she fell asleep next to him after going to him for comfort and calm when she discovered the initial signs of her baby bump. That night seemed like years ago instead of the actual almost five months. "Where did you leave off?" she asked.

"Nixon, I think."

"Turn it on. I'll tell you when they're lying about what happened."

* * *

When Natasha awoke this time, it was to the bed shaking. She wondered for a second if someone was joking around with the remote for the piece of furniture. When they'd requisitioned a larger mattress from Tony, the engineer had taken it upon himself to make a few personal enhancements, which included a remote that could adjust the firmness of the mattress. Said remote also had a red button with a heart icon on it that enabled the mattress's "magic fingers" mode. Steve was mortified the first time he accidentally pushed it.

But it wasn't the bed that was vibrating, it was Steve. He was shivering, and Natasha could distinctly hear his teeth chattering. She remembered his warning from months ago, the first night they'd shared a bed, about what to do if this happened. She began to stiffly sit up and scoot her way to the edge of the mattress. She knew from training and past experience that it wasn't always a good idea to wake someone from a night terror; the results could be far more dangerous than just letting him come out of it naturally.

Natasha waddled over to the armchair Steve had brought down from his bedroom and sank into it with a groan. Even just a week and a half of bed rest had left her joints in pain, and it slightly worried Natasha that she was breathing heavily from the small amount of exertion.

Or maybe her short breaths were from having to watch him struggle. She'd witnessed others having nightmares before; she'd coaxed Clint out of them a time or two. But it was times like this when Steve was utterly helpless that Natasha was reminded just how much control the man exhibited everyday. Steve, who was always delicate with his touch around her, was a coil of energy and motion that was primed for release. Natasha could see it in the bunched muscles of his arms and legs, and she braced herself for what was to come. His name almost fell out of her mouth, but she bit down on her tongue. She wished it was any other person going through this or even herself. Because this man—this good and honorable man—deserved better. He shouldn't have to relive freezing to near death in ice; he shouldn't have to be attacked in his sleep by his worst memories and fears.

For the first time, Natasha felt truly guilty. She and Steve had discussed, fought really, over the idea of her delivering early; Steve saying it was the best chance for everyone, and Natasha not wanting to put Nadia in unnecessary danger. He'd brought it up again before they'd fallen asleep, and she'd snapped at him. She'd lost her temper because she was tired of being in a body she had no control over, tired of having to explain her reasons yet again, and tired of people not seeing that she was trying to be the best mother she could.

He deserved a better wife than her.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Steve's fist slammed into the headboard. It cracked the dark wood and Natasha wondered if he had splinters in his fist. His feet thrashed about and got tangled in the sheets, the confinement causing his breathing to become more panicked.

She could take the sound of the cracking wood, but his rapid and shallow breaths set her nerves on edge. "JARVIS," Natasha called softly into the dark room, "how long do these usually last?"

"According to previous data, the night terror will last for approximately thirty more seconds."

It lasted thirteen because Steve's fist struck out wildly in the air again, making contact at the same place in the headboard causing it to crack along the width and a chunk of it to fall on top of his head. He woke with a gasp large enough to threaten taking in half the room's air.

"I'm over here," Natasha told him quietly when she saw his hands reach out for her side of the bed. "I'm okay. JARVIS, lights on thirty percent." She waited for him to look over at her, but he didn't. "Can you hear me?" she asked, running through the standard set of questions drilled into her head during training on people with PTSD and anxiety issues.

He nodded to acknowledge her question but didn't say anything else. Just sat in the middle of the bed looking down at damage he'd done to his hand.

"Tell me where you are."

"Bedroom."

"Whose bedroom?"

"Ours."

"Good," she told him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Pretty obvious," he spat. He stared at his hand a couple minutes more before she told him to go get the first aid kit from the bathroom. "I can clean it up myself."

"You've been taking care of me, let me return the favor," she told him.

His jaw ground together at her words, but he followed her orders nonetheless. He returned with the small, white box in hand and passed it to her before sitting on the floor beside the armchair. Natasha reached up and flicked on the overhead light Steve used when he sat in the chair to read. Gingerly, she pulled his right hand to rest against her stomach and began to slowly turn it to see how much damage he'd caused and to check for broken bones, which she didn't find.

"You don't have to do this," he repeated. "My body will heal, and it'll push out whatever splinters are in there."

"It's fine," she reassured him as she set to work removing the small pieces of wood embedded in his skin.

He looked over his shoulder as she worked. "We're going to need a new headboard. Should we just order an identical frame?"

"I don't care." She felt his hand stiffen at her answer, and she replayed how it sounded to him in her head. She hadn't meant it in the way he probably took it. "What I meant was it's just a bed, and I don't really care about its aesthetics. As long as it's sturdy and not too hideous to look at, whatever you pick is fine. And I'm usually too tired once I crawl into it to care about the hideous part."

"JARVIS, how long would it take to have a replacement in here? Same design, I'll pay for it."

"It can be here by ten in the morning, Captain."

Natasha looked at the clock on the bedside table. That would give them—well, Steve really—six hours to clean things up and have everything ready for delivery. "That enough time?" He nodded. Her eyes caught on the bump forming on his forehead and she brushed his hair back with her fingers to get a better look. "JARVIS, can you scan for a concussion?"

"I'm fine," Steve muttered.

"Scans do not show any damage to the Captain's head, Agent Romanoff."

She nodded and bit her lip for a second before asking the AI her next question. "Can you check to see if someone in psych has an opening to see him this afternoon?"

"What?" Steve asked, his tone cold.

"You need to talk to someone. Our lives are crazy right now—"

"I'm fine."

"You just punched a headboard into pieces. No, you're not fine." She paused to grab him by the chin and made him look her in the eye. "And it's okay to not be fine right now." She loosened her grip on his face and swept her thumb back and forth against the corner of his mouth. "You're allowed to be scared; I am. And you're allowed to show me you're scared."

Steve bowed his head and leaned forward to nuzzle his face against her stomach while she ran her fingers through his hair. He rested there a moment before sniffing and standing. "I should get this cleaned up. Where do you want to go? I'll carry you—"

She waved him quiet. "I've been sleeping for most of the last eighteen hours. I can stay awake for a little bit."

He rolled his lips in preparation to argue but shrugged and went about dismantling the bed and cleaning up his mess.

* * *

Three days later, Natasha awoke with a start when she realized she was sharing her new bed (the frame at least) with Tony. "I had a dream about this once," she told him sleepily as she dug her palms into her eyes.

"I dreamt about being in bed with you last night," he said before setting the tablet he was typing on onto his lap. "Of course, Pepper was there, too. When did I become the guy who only dreams of sleeping with other women if it's a threesome including my girlfriend?"

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. "That may be the most mature thing I've ever heard you admit."

"Terrifying, right?"

She nodded. "Where's Clint? He's supposed to be my babysitter today. Or have I slept straight into whatever day you're supposed to watch over me?"

"Barton and I switched caretaking duties for the afternoon. He took Rogers down to legal for a chat."

"About what?" Natasha asked as she propped herself up on her elbow. The movement caused Tony to stiffen. "I'm allowed to sit up. Nothing will rip apart if I do."

"You might want to look down and see how hard that t-shirt is working before you say that."

"I'd punch you if I had the energy for it." She began the process of rolling out of bed with a groan. Tony shot up and came around to help pull her up and steady her once she was on her feet. "Thanks," she muttered.

"You sure you're not past your due date?" he asked, dark eyes looking her up and down.

"Still only thirty-five weeks," she answered before slowly making her way to the bathroom.

She felt Tony fall into place behind her and his fingertips graze over her back and shoulders. "I don't know where to put my hands," he admitted.

"Your pockets," Natasha informed him before shutting the bathroom door in his face. She avoided looking into the mirror; she knew her appearance was frightening enough from the way Steve tried to hide his emotions. And she could see evidence of her body being stripped of its reserves from the thinning of her arms. Although her legs were out of sight for the most part, she knew they too had become smaller—not that the bed rest was helping in that case.

Once she was finished in the bathroom, she let Tony hover around her until she made it back to the bed. The soreness in her limbs called for a new position while the kicking child within her demanded she go back to moving around. Nadia was apparently as bored with this whole thing as her mother. "Why did they go to legal?" Natasha asked again once she was settled and Tony came back around to sit beside her on the mattress.

"So Clint could get the legalese talk about what his responsibilities are as a guardian or whatever. Pepper did the same thing yesterday," he told her as he picked up his tablet and went back to breaking down a schematic of something Natasha didn't recognize.

She studied him for a moment. She'd known him for a few years now and had always been pretty good at picking out his lies, but now she was a master. "What are they really doing down there?"

"Wasting time," he answered easily enough.

"How?"

"Steve wanted to have a chat with what's-her-face-married-to-the-blue-fuzzball—"

"Kate McCoy."

"Yeah, her, about whether or not you're of sound enough mind to make your own medical decisions and if he can force you into delivering now."

Natasha's lips pursed. She should've felt betrayed at the news, but instead was a little bit proud for Steve's sheer stubbornness on the matter. "And Clint?"

"Tagging along for bro-support. And, you know," he said as his hand waved about in the air, "actually getting lectured on the guardianship stuff."

Natasha shook her head. "He can't force me into doing anything. I'm aware of the situation and my mind is fully functioning: I still get to make my own decisions."

Tony nodded. "I know that and you know that—Barton probably does, too—but Rogers is going to stress himself into an ulcer, so he's trying to do whatever he can." He waved his fingers in the air. "Just let him try and get it out of his system."

"How many times has Pepper tried to force some medical procedure on to you in the name of power of attorney?"

"Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "How bad would it be if you just went ahead and delivered now?"

Natasha knew Nadia's odds were very good. Her lungs, kidneys, and liver were nearly finished developing. But she was still tiny—under four-and-a-half pounds—and currently, she was safe and healthy. And if Natasha wasn't going to live for very long after she was born, then why shouldn't she hold out as long as possible and soak up every second she could?

When she didn't answer, Tony stared her down. "You've resigned yourself to dying, haven't you?"

She gave a small shrug. "We all have to die sometime. At least I know when it will happen and what will kill me."

He gave a mirthful smirk. "Funny. We meet because I was the one who felt like that—all ready to die and doing what I could to accomplish one or two last great things. And now, that's how things between us are going to end." He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't think I was going to survive that. But I did. We can help you survive this, too."

"No, you can't," she told him confidently. "McClellan said at best I'll make it three more weeks. Probably only two. This isn't some poison in my bloodstream; it's not an easy fix."

"Hey," he argued, pointing a finger in her face, "I had to create a whole new element. I don't think qualifies as 'an easy fix. '"

"Neither Bruce, Thor, nor McClellan can find a way around this." She sighed and shook her head. "I wish you guys would quit trying to guilt me and just let me do this for her. Let me be as much of a mother as I can." Tony stared her down for a minute before nodding and turning his attention back to his tablet. "Really? That's all the argument it takes to get you to agree with me?"

"Despite what you look like right now, which is not great, I will at least give you the honor of respecting your wishes, and not doing something like—oh, I don't know—jabbing a syringe into your neck." His eyes bugged out when he caught movement under Natasha's shirt. "What the hell was that?"

"Foot."

"It moved. Across your stomach. A bump moved across your stomach."

"Please don't let your brain explode. I'm too tired to change the sheets in here."

He was saved from having to witness any more live-action _Alien_ movement from Nadia when Clint and Steve entered the quarters. "Thank god," he muttered. "I'm out. I'm going back to the land of machinery."

Steve and Clint walked into the bedroom with matching puzzled looks on their faces. "He got freaked out by the belly," she explained.

"Happens to the best of us," Clint told her. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she shook her head and dismissed him. He clapped a hand to Steve's shoulder. "Call if you need me."

Steve walked the archer out of the quarters before coming back to stand in the bedroom. "How did your meeting go?" Natasha asked. He shrugged. "Disappointed you didn't get the answer you wanted?"

His jaw clenched. "Stark needs to keep his damn mouth shut."

"That's never going to happen."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "I'll be right back." A minute later, he reentered the bedroom and sat on the bed next to her, a folder in his hands. "Remember how I was late to brunch the day you started bed rest?" She nodded, craning her neck to try and see the contents in his hands. "I was at a printer's picking up the proof of the book I was going to have made for Nadia."

He handed over the folder and Natasha put it down on the mattress. She flipped it open and began scanning the pages. They were all sketches of her—both on and off the battle field. There was an image of her getting ready to jump off his shield and into the air, her pinning Clint to the mat with a smirk, drinking tea with Bruce in his lab. Natasha could place the date and time of almost every picture, some dating back to over a year ago when they first met on the Helicarrier. "I was going to title the thing 'Reasons Why Your Mom is Great'," he told her, "but you seem pretty fixated on making me write this in the past tense."

Her fingers skimmed over a drawing of her walking into the small chapel on their wedding day a little over a month ago. None of the images showed her holding a weapon or looking overly bloody, but that didn't mean they failed to show her strength. Seeing herself through Steve's eyes was simultaneously beautiful and uncomfortable.

"I know I don't really have a right to beg you to fight for us," he told her, a hand waving between their bodies. "But please fight for her. Don't just give up."

"Steve, I am fighting for her." She reached out and took his hand in hers, ignoring his initial flinch at the touch. "I'm doing the best I can."

He stared at their fingers for a moment before giving a small nod. "Okay."


	29. Chapter 29

**NOTES:** Alright, dear readers of mine, here it is-the last meaty chapter. Two weeks from today I'll post an epilogue and that will be that. For this story anyway.

As a side note, at the end of the month I'll be celebrating my one-year Avengers fic writing anniversary. I'm currently taking prompts, so if there's a missing scene from this story (or any other that I've written), or a scene you'd like to see from someone else's POV, send me a message on tumblr (url is saranoh).

That said, let's get down to business. Thanks so much to the_wordbutler for enduring this emotional rollercoaster with me and making this story better.

And thanks to all of you for taking the time to read it.

* * *

When she hit thirty-six weeks, McClellan ordered Natasha to take up residence in the birthing suite. Natasha wasn't sure what scared those around her more: the fact that this was necessary or the fact that she didn't argue about it.

She required an IV for fluids and nutrients since she lacked the strength to take in enough food herself. A cannula was strung around her ears and into her nose to help her get enough oxygen. But the thing stuck in her that she hated the most was the catheter; they were the worst.

Most of her time was spent sleeping, or at least trying to. It was hard enough to be comfortable in the last month of pregnancy, but being bedridden didn't help. The lack of activity increased the frequency of Braxton-Hicks contractions. Their presence made everyone, Natasha included, worried that they might become actual contractions. She needed to make it to Saturday; that was the magical thirty-seventh week mark when she would be considered full term. It wasn't her due date, but lasting another three weeks was out of the question.

Natasha knew she was the only one who had this deep desire to make it five more days to the seventeenth of August. She'd heard lectures from about everyone at this point that she should give in and deliver, that Nadia would be fine. Even McClellan, who gave her patient freedom in making her own decisions, was starting to waver. The OB reminded Natasha that if she felt the situation was too dire, she'd initiate an emergency C-section.

When Natasha was awake and alone in the room, which was almost never, she would talk to Nadia and plead with her to not strip too much strength and energy away. "Just wait till Saturday," she asked.

Other words threaten to spill out of her. Words to her daughter about what Natasha hoped Nadia's life would turn out to be, gratitude for the opportunity to possibly put some good in the world, advice she could offer on life, and reassurances about how much her father and uncles were going to love her and take care of her. But those words were never spoken aloud. They weighed too heavy and lodged in Natasha's throat whenever she tried to speak them because they felt too much like a goodbye.

She wasn't the only one having issues saying farewell; each time she woke, there was a different member of the team in the room. Steve, who barely left her side, began the habit of stepping out into the corridor during these talks so Natasha and whoever was there could have a moment of privacy. Natasha wasn't prepared to hear goodbyes from them. In all her thinking and mental preparation to swallow the idea that she would sacrifice her life for her child, it never occurred to her that the guys would want to have their personal farewell talks with her. Not until Thor gave some little speech about how she would be welcomed into the halls of Valhalla and praised as one of the mightiest warriors Midgard ever produced did she realize what was happening.

Once she swallowed the shock of hearing Thor tell her goodbye, she quickly made him promise a series of vows: once again that no one on Asgard know how Nadia was conceived, to protect her as best he could from other magical things, to watch over Steve.

The last one became a repeated request with everyone. Because even though she was the first to admit that she did not know everything about the man she married, she knew he would dive so deep into taking care of Nadia that he wouldn't look after himself. That was going to bite him in the ass eventually, so she made the men swear to take care of him.

Bruce came next. They'd discussed last week how SHIELD would allow him to serve as Nadia's pediatrician as long as someone with an official MD in their title observed since Bruce qualified as a doctor in every since except the official paperwork. Steve and Natasha asked McClellan to supervise, since they were familiar with her and she was one of the few who knew how Nadia came to be. The OB griped that she didn't really know what to do with humans once they were on the outside, but consented nonetheless.

"And you'll be there when they run the tests when she's born?" Natasha questioned.

"Yes," Bruce repeated for the third time.

"And you know all the ones that need to be run? So you can recognize when they're doing something unnecessary?"

"Yes, and I know to tell Tony to keep an eye out for Fury, or anyone else, scanning her medical files. We won't let them turn her into a lab rat."

"Good," Natasha sighed, feeling only slightly more at ease.

The pair sat in silence as Bruce slipped his glasses off and used his untucked shirttail to clean them. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For trusting me with her. For dragging me out of India. For being my friend after I chased you down."

"That was the other guy."

Bruce shrugged. "Still, thanks."

Tony and Pepper were sitting in the room when she awoke early Friday morning. Pepper tried to give her a reassuring smile, but Natasha saw the corners of the other woman's mouth wobble. Putting on her CEO persona, Pepper efficiently listed all the ways they'd help out—making sure Steve and Nadia always had a place to stay and enough money in their bank account, talks of paying for college, play dates with Pepper so Nadia wouldn't become a total tomboy, and Tony swearing not to build her any robots until she was at least seven.

Natasha gave a small smile at the last part before turning to Pepper, who was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. "You know in about ten to twelve years you're going to have to be the one to do bra shopping and the period talk, right?"

Pepper ignored Tony's full-body shutter. "I've been dealing with him and his never-ending puberty for years; I'll be fine." She leaned over to brush a kiss on Natasha's cheek and whisper in her ear, "Once I got over losing my friend, that is."

When she sat back up Natasha caught a glimpse of wet eyes and sadness, but Pepper cleared her throat and instantaneously slid her professional mask back into place. She looked over at Tony and tipped her head in Natasha's direction.

Tony got up from the armchair in the corner, the furthest he could be from the hospital bed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. His mouth twitched for a moment before he rolled his eyes. "I suck at this."

"You're in good company," Natasha returned.

Tony smirked. "You're the ballsiest bitch I've ever met with the exception of her," he said jerking his head towards Pepper.

"Thanks."

Tony nodded and cleared his throat roughly. "We'll, uh, we'll keep an eye on the kid and Rogers."

"Thank you."

Pepper squeezed her hand and they both left before any of the three of them had to show any more of the emotions threatening to overtake them.

That evening, Phil and Clint walked into her room and Natasha had to bite her tongue to keep herself from ordering them to immediately leave. Because this one was going to hurt.

Clint looked miserable and Phil was the definition of rumpled. Natasha adjusted the bed so she at least somewhat sitting up. Clint dragged a chair to sit on her right while Phil leaned against the wall to her left. None of them said anything for a while until Clint muttered, "This is bullshit." Phil sighed his displeasure at the statement. "What?" Clint demanded. "You know it's bullshit."

Her best friend, the man who saved her instead of ending her, turned his face to look at her. "What am I going to do without you?"

"You'll live," she answered. "You have him," she said cocking her head toward their handler.

"Yeah," Clint huffed bitterly, "because I functioned so well the last time I lost one of you."

"You'll have her," Natasha reasoned. Clint's face turned into something hard just before he looked away, and she felt her temper snap. "Don't you dare, Barton. Don't you dare resent her. She's my chance at a clean slate. Do not take that away from me."

"She's killing you," Clint argued.

"And I don't need you reminding her that she's the reason I'm gone every time you look at her." She shook her head. "Don't do that. You know how hard it is to lose a parent. You know how much guilt you can carry around because it's your fault someone is dead. Don't you dare to that to her. Please."

Clint hung his head a minute before nodding. "Promise," he whispered.

Phil pushed himself away from the wall. "Have your wishes for memorial services changed?"

Her mind drifted back to the day seven years ago when she was filling out SHIELD paperwork, one of the forms including what to do with her body if she was killed. She didn't really know how to answer the question then; she'd previously assumed that if she died on a mission, her body would either be irretrievable or her Russian handlers wouldn't care enough to do anything about it.

"Cremate me," she answered, holding true to the words she'd written down on the form. "Don't let anyone take any part of me for research."

"What should we do with the ashes?" Phil asked.

She turned possibilities over in her head for a minute: Russia, somewhere close by, a place empty and quiet. She shrugged. "Whatever feels right to you."

Natasha felt her eyes start to slide shut, and she grew annoyed that she couldn't keep her energy up long enough to have a ten minute conversation.

_Almost over,_ a voice in her head reminded her. McClellan had her C-section scheduled for six in the morning. Natasha tried to argue that she thought she could last a few more days, but her doctor had shook her head.

Clint reached out and took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. "Love you," he said as he clutched her hand in both of his.

"It has been my honor," Phil told her. Natasha knew him well enough to see the chinks in the armor he wore to hide his emotions. She nodded up at him.

When she awoke again, the room was mostly dark with light being cast from the monitors hanging above her bed. She moaned as she tried to readjust her body as best she could.

"You okay?" Steve asked quietly, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Yeah, go back to sleep."

"Wasn't sleeping," he told her as he got up from the couch across from her bed and sat in the chair Clint had left at her side.

"What time is it?"

"Little after three in the morning. You need anything?" She shook her head. He studied his hands for a minute before looking up at her. "Do I get my turn now?"

"Your turn for what?"

He shrugged. "You know, to say… things."

"Oh," she answered as she shifted once more in the bed. "Sure."

Steve rolled his lips, taking his time to frame his words. "I got to be happy for a while. And I didn't think that would happen again." He paused to take a shuttering breath. "Thank you for trusting me to raise her," he said as his hand stretched out to land on her stomach.

The weight of his palm and feeling of his fingers had grown normal to Natasha. Apparently to Nadia too, because she bumped up against the pressure in some form of a greeting. Natasha memorized the sensation of the movement, not knowing if it was the last time she'd feel her daughter move.

Natasha covered his hand with hers, and he looked over to stare at her fingers. "I'll tell her stories about you every day."

She snorted. "You're going to run out of good ones pretty quickly."

"Nah."

Her chest tightened at the single syllable. She would never know what she did in order to spend just a little time with a man as good as Steve Rogers, but she was grateful for it. "C'mere," she whispered.

It wasn't much of a kiss—she lacked the strength and energy to properly convey her feelings through touch—but it was enough.

He pulled away but left his hands to rest on her cheeks. "I love you," he breathed. Before she could barely process the words he was saying to her for the first time, he kept talking. "You don't have to say anything back. Just know I love you. I love you for your strength and bravery, for letting me be her father, for being one of the most beautiful, fierce women to ever exist. And I love you for letting me see just a hint of the real you."

They stayed quiet in the embrace, and Natasha managed to fight through the constant exhaustion to stay awake until McClellan walked in as the skies outside were starting to turn pink. "Ready?" she asked.

When they both nodded, the doctor reviewed the steps for the upcoming procedure, how Nadia would be taken back to the nursery for tests and to be cleaned up, how Bruce would be back there to supervise, and how they'd all be reunited back in this room during the recovery phase of things.

Steve squeezed her hand and put on his bravest grin, which wasn't much at the moment. A handful of nurses and staff came in to help prop everything and shortly after, Natasha was wheeled down to the operating room. She didn't need to listen to the rhythmic beeps of her heart monitor to know her pulse had quickened. This was the most nervous she'd felt in… maybe ever, she couldn't really remember.

She'd been in a number of situations where she didn't think she'd make it out alive. All of those felt different from this. Maybe because, as hard as it was to believe, this held more certainty. Or it could've been because she was more at peace because she'd had a chance to say goodbye.

Or perhaps it felt different because her life finally felt worthy of living.

A curtain was draped across her chest and Steve looked a little disappointed. He stretched his neck to see if he could see over the top. "Please don't," she asked of him. "I really don't want you to know what my intestines look like."

He looked back at her and she shook her head. "What?" he asked.

"You look ridiculous." And he did with his paper scrubs, and flimsy blue shower cap thing to cover his hair.

"I'm going to be a gentleman and not reply to that statement even though I have ample ammunition."

She felt immensely grateful for this brief moment they could joke, that things could feel normal.

"Alright, Natasha, we're going to get things started," McClellan announced, her face floating above the curtain. "Ready?"

She wanted to say no, because she wasn't. She wouldn't ever be, even if things were going to end differently. How was it time already? At certain points, her pregnancy seemed never-ending and to drag on as slowly as a discussion where Tony, Bruce, and Jane went off on a science binge. And now it was over?

"Natasha," Steve said quietly, seated by her head.

She nodded. "Ready."

Steve squeezed her shoulder and left his hand there, the other coming to rest on top of her forehead. McClellan talked her way through the surgery, explaining what each step was doing and when Natasha might feel pressure despite the spinal block dulling her senses. It didn't take long for her eyes to feel heavy. She could feel the edges of an exhaustion so deep she didn't know was possible pulling at her, but she fought her way through it.

She heard an announcement about feeling an increase in pressure, and then McClellan announced, "She's out."

Despite the announcement, the only noises in the operating room were the beeping of monitors and McClellan asking for a surgical instrument to cut the cord. Natasha could feel tension radiate from Steve as he too waited for something other than the two words from the doctor as proof that Nadia was here and healthy.

"Please cry," Natasha breathed. "Please let me hear you just once."

Her wish was granted, and a moment later McClellan held Nadia up in the air for her parents to see. And there she was—this little, screaming, messy thing. This tiny person whom Natasha had hinged her hopes of redemption upon. She was vaguely aware of Steve saying something to her, but she didn't hear the words. Natasha kept her focus on the crying child for a second more until her vision blurred and went dark.

* * *

Natasha didn't know what death would be like. She was never one for believing in the afterlife; she knew she would never be welcome in heaven, and hell sounded like it was full of her enemies. The thought of eternal darkness and quiet sounded like a welcome respite at times. And while the darkness was dead on, it wasn't quiet.

There were voices around her. Not all the time, but often enough. They spoke quietly, except for the one. That one had a habit of shrieking. Natasha wasn't sure if it was even human, since half the time it sounded like a bleating baby goat.

She could feel sensations now again: a brush against her check, a weight on her chest, someone holding her hand. But nothing more. And despite all that, she felt very much alone.

The darkness seemed to last forever, but at one point she noticed a patch of the darkest of grays mixed among the black. She pursued it, hunted it down, and clawed at the faint glimmer of light it offered.

She was certain she expended more energy fighting through the heavy, dark barrier than on any mission she ever had, maybe even all of them combined. She didn't know what she'd find at the end, she just knew she had to find out.

She gasped when she hit the light, its power blinding her. She heard a voice to her left: "You're okay, you're okay. Natasha, it's me, you're okay."

Steve. The voice belonged to Steve. But that wasn't possible. If Steve was here then that meant—

Her vision cleared and he was standing next to her, something wrapped in a blanket in his arms. Without thought, she sat up quickly. The part of her mind that was slowly coming back into focus told her she'd pay for the sharp movement later.

Natasha snatched the bundle out of his arms and laid it between her legs. She moved as quickly as possible to unwrap the blanket. Beneath the red cloth with white polka-dots, the newborn wore a plain white onesie that hung slightly loose on her little body. She had a pink knit cap pulled over her head, and Natasha removed that to. She ran fingertips over her daughter's soft skin, searching for something, but she didn't know what. Her increasingly watery eyes scanned every spot of the baby looking for a sign that something terrible was going to happen. It was no time at all before Nadia began crying and Natasha placed the bleating goat sound she'd heard in the darkness.

"She doesn't like being unswaddled," Steve explained as he reached down to refasten the blanket. Natasha swatted his fingers away, frantically double checking every free spot of skin she could find.

This wasn't right; it had to be some trick. Maybe she was wrong and this was hell, she'd have to spend eternity being mocked with the life she almost had.

She couldn't catch her breath as her fingers continued to roam over the limbs. Maybe she had survived this, maybe she could walk away alive. But if she did, Thor warned her what that meant for the baby. So her fingers kept searching for something, some hint that the child was sick or dying or about to vanish.

"Natasha, she's fine. She's perfect."

She shook her head. The baby wasn't fine. Natasha was alive, and Thor said—

"The magic's gone," Steve said as he sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. "Thor made sure. She's still here, you're still here—you beat it."

"Loki," Natasha rasped, her voice dry from not being used.

"He lost," Steve told her.

She shook her head. This had to be some new add-on to his magic, some new piece of deception. He put Natasha through hell thinking she was going to die, then she didn't, and now she was going to worry non-stop about Nadia. How long would they have her? Would she continually grow ill and waste away like Natasha had? Would she just vanish one day right out of their arms?

Steve grabbed her hands and pulled until she looked him in the eyes. "You're alive. She's alive. You are both here, and you both won. Can we—just for five minutes—be happy about this before we start worrying about how the sky might crash down on us next?"

This wasn't right. This couldn't be right. "This is Loki."

"Natasha, no."

"He has to—"

"No," he said sharply. "Look at me." He waited for her eyes to pull away from the crying baby to look at him. "Listen to me: the magic is gone. You beat it, Thor said so. Loki does not have any power over us or our lives, and don't you dare give him any."

She looked back down at the squalling newborn. Picking up the edges of the blanket, she whispered, "I don't know how to do this."

"Natasha," he reassured, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You're going to be a great mom."

"No, I mean—I don't know how to do that either, but I meant this," she said as she waved the corners of the blanket in the air. "I don't know how to make that baby burrito wrap thing."

"Oh," Steve chuckled as he stood and came to her side. He positioned his body so she could watch his motions, knowing she'd only need to see it once to figure it out.

Just as he promised, as soon as Nadia was snug again, she quieted down. The silence allowed Natasha's mind to clear, the haze of panic settling down. She looked up at Steve—really noticed him—for the first time since she woke up. There was hair on his face, which was highly unusual. Steve shaved religiously, even when they were out on an op. And the hair she saw was more than just morning stubble. Dark rings were under his eyes, which given his enhanced healing rate and energy levels, was extremely telling.

"How long?" she asked, slightly scared to hear his answer.

"Four days. You stopped breathing twice the day she was born."

She cursed in Russian as she looked back down at Nadia, and then cursed a whole new string of words when she finally caught sight of herself. Her stomach had flattened, not completely but mostly, and her chest had shrunk back down to its normal size. Her arms and legs were almost done filling out to a normal looking girth. "Four days?" she asked.

Steve nodded. "McClellan can give you a better idea of what happened." He paused to look at her monitors. "And she can probably already tell you're awake. Want me to buy you a couple of minutes alone with her?"

"McClellan?"

"Nadia," he corrected gently.

"Oh, um, okay."

Steve's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure? I can stay in here if you want."

"No, it's fine. It would be nice, actually." Steve nodded and made his way out of the room. Natasha looked down at the baby between her legs. They would be fine, in theory. They'd spent the last thirty-seven weeks together, the only change now was a slight shift in Nadia's location. And the fact that she wasn't completely protected by Natasha, could cry, could be dropped. Natasha shook her head before the list grew worse. She waved Steve towards the door before he could question again whether or not she wanted to be left alone with the child. Their child.

"Hey," Natasha said just as Steve was about to duck out the door. He looked back at her, face expectant. There were a thousand things she should say to him: apologies for making him worry, thanks for taking care of Nadia, and other words that terrified her to think of saying. So instead, another phrase fell out of her mouth: "You look like shit."

He barked a laugh and grinned at her. "Nice to have you back." With that he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Natasha looked back down at her daughter. She moved to pick her up but noticed her fingers were shaking. With a curse, Natasha shook out her hands and swiped away any remaining tears in her eyes before scooping Nadia up and cradling her against her chest. "Hi," she breathed. Nadia's eyes opened at the sound of her voice, and the baby's gaze locked on to her face. Natasha felt something snap and expand in her chest, something more powerful than she'd ever felt in her entire life. "Hi," she repeated, not knowing what else to say.

It apparently wasn't interesting enough to hold the child's interest because Nadia yawned, wriggled as much as she could in her blanket, and fell back asleep.

Natasha bent her head down and gently kissed each of the soft, slightly chubby cheeks. "I'm your mom. Or Mama. I don't do Mommy. And I'm probably going to screw you up a time or two. Sorry."

She brushed her hand over Nadia's forehead and caught the pink stocking cap Steve had put back in place when he swaddled her. Underneath, the baby sported blonde hair. Natasha was reminded of the genetic makeup of her daughter and began to search out similarities in their faces.

She didn't get to look much before a knock sounded at the door. McClellan let herself in without waiting for Natasha's permission, Steve trailing behind her mouthing an apology for not being able to give Natasha more alone time. Like Steve, the doctor looked exhausted. Her ash-blond hair was a frazzled mess her scrubs were beyond rumpled. "I swear I could fill five medical journals with your case alone," she greeted. "You okay?"

"Isn't it your job to answer that question?" Natasha asked back.

The OB shot a look to Steve. "I see her lovely disposition has remained intact." Steve's shoulders shook, but he kept his eyes on his shoes.

The doctor then proceeded to fill in Natasha on what she'd missed in the last few days: the way her body had begun to rapidly set itself to her pre-pregnancy status, how she'd had the close calls Steve mentioned and a coma no one could explain, and how everyone—mother and child—were now healthy. She also informed Natasha about how as soon as she cut the umbilical cord, McClellan could immediately see signs of Natasha's body reverting back to its infertile state. "I don't what's caused your body to go back to the way it was a year ago—I refuse to say the _m _word, but in a few days I'm positive no scans would even show you were ever pregnant.

"I want to keep you here for another twenty-four hours for observation, but after that, I see no reason why you all can't go home. Your body is healing rapidly; I was able to remove the staples from the surgery yesterday. Just take things easy. And I'm sure the staff will appreciate not having a team of superheroes stalking the waiting room anymore."

Natasha shot a questioning look at Steve. "Because of your condition, you weren't allowed visitors," he explained. "Bruce saw Nadia in the nursery when she was born, and Thor's checked in once a day to look for whatever, but that's it."

She looked back at the doctor. "How many times has Tony tried to pull the 'I own this building and I do what I want card?'"

"Not as many times as Coulson spat 'She's my asset' at me." She paused to point at her face. "Look how much I do not care." She looked at her watch. "Visiting hours start at eight in the morning, which means you have forty minutes to brace yourselves." With that, she left the three of them alone.

Steve took his seat back on the edge of her bed, smiling at the baby. "I think I need to buy lottery tickets."

Natasha snorted. "You want to sleep?"

He shook his head. "I haven't slept in almost a week. I'll pass out for at least twelve hours straight. And I don't want to miss this. I can hold off until the guys come in and see you two."

"She's healthy?"

Steve nodded. "Passed all her tests, everything looks great. Appointment all set up with Bruce and McClellan for her first check-up on Friday. She lost a little bit of weight, but that's normal. And she's due for another bottle any time now. I can prep the formula."

They spent the forty minutes they had to themselves feeding and changing Nadia. Steve told her what tips and tricks he'd picked up on in the last four days. They moved together efficiently, just like on the battlefield, and it was the first time since she woke up that Natasha wasn't a complete panicked mess about this becoming her future.

At eight on the dot, the men plus Pepper filtered into the room. Like always with this group, it was a mess of bodies and noise and chaos. And, per usual, Phil quickly whipped them into shape; he quieted them down and then looked expectantly at her to make the call on how things were going to go. She could also plainly see the relief and exhaustion on his face—as well as everyone else's.

She ducked her head down and placed a quick kiss on Nadia's forehead, inhaling her scent before looking up at Clint. "Wanna hold your niece?"

He face broke out into one of the widest smiles Natasha had ever seen on her old friend. Clint swooped in and gently took Nadia in his arms, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he swayed back and forth. "Hey, Bug."

"Bug?" Natasha questioned.

"Yeah," Clint shrugged. "She's a little Black Widow: Bug."

"I like it," Steve said with a stupid and sleep-deprived grin from Natasha's side. "But she's not going out with the team any time soon. If ever."

"Okay, no," Bruce interrupted. "Bugs typically refer to insects. It's also a term for germs. She's neither. Also, black widows are arthropods, which aren't insects. They don't even have the same number of legs."

"Bug," Clint said emphatically as he slowly made his way across the room to stand in front of the scientist, "this is your Uncle Bruce, and he's a nerd."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but nonetheless accepted the baby into his arms, a soft smile breaking on to his face.

"Also," Clint continued, "don't piss him off. He gets a little green around the gills when you do that. Okay, now give her back."

"I just got her."

"Everyone gets twenty seconds."

"Pretty sure you've already had for longer than that," Tony argued.

"Pretty sure you don't give a rat's ass," Clint replied.

"Language," Steve threatened as his hand reached over to hold Natasha's. It was the first time he'd ever made that particular physical gesture, at least when hell wasn't breaking out around them.

Tony's hands came up in a defensive posture. "I'm just arguing for her sake," he said as he pointed at Pepper.

"Bug," Clint continued, shooting a look at Bruce who rolled his eyes, "this lovely lady is your Aunt Pepper." He passed Nadia over to the woman, who bit her bottom lip while smiling. "She and I will be deemed by the Catholic Church to be responsible for spoiling you rotten." He paused to turn back to Steve. "That's what that whole godparent thing means, right?"

"Sure," he answered, too tired to argue. He leaned over in Natasha's ear. "He seems a little too natural at this."

Natasha shrugged. "He grew up in a circus and was a little put off he never got to be ringmaster. Let him have his moment."

Clint jerked his head toward Tony, and Pepper rolled her eyes but dutifully passed the baby off. Natasha felt Steve's grip on her hand tighten as Tony stiffly held their daughter.

"This is your Uncle Tony," Clint announced. "He's kind of a dick, but he lets us live in his building rent-free and builds us custom weapons so we let it slide. Well, he builds _me_ custom weapons. I don't think your parents would be cool with that." He grabbed Nadia out of Tony's arms and passed her on to Thor.

If the baby looked tiny when Steve was around, she looked almost microscopic in the Asgardian's hands. Natasha wondered briefly if the demigod could comfortably hold her in one hand, and was grateful Thor wasn't trying to find that out himself.

"This is your Uncle Thor. He's a little weird, but it's cool because he's an alien. He has a shithead of a brother, but I guess we now owe that tool something because you wouldn't be here without him." Clint paused to look Thor dead in the eye. "Doesn't mean I'm cool with him, though."

"Nor I," Thor answered.

Steve leaned over once again. "Are we going to tell her that part of things?"

Natasha shrugged. "We have time to figure it out. I don't think she'll actually remember this, do you?"

Thor was muttering something in a language none of them knew, and no one asked what it meant. They'd all had their fill of magic. Once he was done, he told the child that the Ladies Jane and Darcy would also be excited to meet her. Natasha questioned just how excited Jane would be.

Clint plucked Nadia away again before passing her over to Phil with an idiotic grin on his face. "And last but not least, this is your Uncle Phil. He's my favorite."

"Does that mean he gets to hold him longer than twenty seconds?" Steve questioned.

Clint nodded and smirked. "He gets bonus time because he gives me blow—" His words were caught off with a collective groan and Natasha couldn't help but have the corners of her mouth kick up in a small grin.

"Is it too late to rethink the whole godfather thing?" Steve stage-whispered to Natasha. Clint flipped him off in response.

This was how it should be—all of them together, happy and, for the most part, healthy. They didn't get to spend much time like this, and Natasha now knew exactly how precious these moments were.

The group of them stayed for an hour before Phil chased them all away with promises to give Steve and Natasha some time to themselves until the evening. They all had a chance to kiss Nadia's cheeks, shake Steve's hand, and show Natasha their happiness that she was okay.

Clint was the last to leave. He wrapped his arms around Natasha's neck and hugged her with all his strength. "You ever pull that shit on me again, I'll kill you myself."

"You tried that once before."

"Yeah, well, this time I'll actually do it."

Steve walked them out and then turned to give a tired grin at the sight of Natasha holding Nadia. "You okay with her? Because I'm going to collapse in about two minutes."

Natasha nodded. "We'll be fine. Get some sleep."

"She'll need another bottle in a couple of hours. Just hold her like I showed you. If you need help, buzz the nurse. Her name is Alison and she's nice. You might want to put a pillow in your lap when you hold her so your arms won't get tired."

"Sleep, Rogers." He nodded wearily and walked over to place a kiss on Nadia's head and then Natasha's cheek. He began to walk away but Natasha caught him by the wrist. "Thank you. Thank you for everything—for taking care of her, for putting up with me, for everything."

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by Nadia starting to whimper. "Here," he said as he shifted the baby from Natasha's arms so that she was nestled against her mother's chest. "She likes it there."

Natasha froze at the sensation. "You put her on my chest?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. Why?"

"I remember this. I remember something weighing down on me. I didn't realize it was her."

Steve nodded. "Sometimes it was the only way I could get her to calm down. Think she missed hearing your heartbeat."

Natasha nodded and ducked her head to nuzzle the pink stocking cap. "Go to sleep," she said softly. "Both of you."


	30. Chapter 30

**NOTES: **This is it, folks: the epilogue. I can't believe this story, which is nothing like it was originally supposed to be, is over. It has been a joy growing with it, and a delight that you all take the time to read it. Thank you so much for that.

Just so you know, to celebrate my anniversary of writing Avengers fic, I'm going to post a new story on Thursday called "Wishes and Nightmares: Anniversary Funfest Bonus Scenes" (because I suck at titles). I'll be posting prompts I've collected over the last couple weeks that take place during and after this story. I'll post a prompt a day until I run out. It should last at least two-and-a-half weeks.

There are more stories to come in what I now refer to as the Nadiaverse. The will not always be centered around Natasha, Steve, and Nadia, but they will take place in the same timeline offshot. My next multichapter fic featuring Phil and Clint should get going around October. And there are several more stories to tell after that one, have no fear.

Thank you, again, for spending your time on my words. That means the world to me, as do all of your lovely comments and encouragement.

Thank you to kris_eleven for being my original sounding board on this crazy idea eight months ago (funny how this story almost took nine months to tell), and thanks to the_wordbutler for being the awesome person that she is-editing my words, loving the idea of Steve and Natasha together before I did, and being just a huge support for me and this story.

* * *

"That's not what she was wearing when I left," Steve commented softly as he entered their bedroom.

Natasha was lying on her side watching three-week-old Nadia, sprawled as much as her tiny form could be, sleep in the middle of their bed. "She spit up all over her star chart. Maybe we'll have better luck with polka-dots."

"Probably not," Steve chuckled as he leaned in to kiss his daughter, only to be waved off by Natasha.

"You know the rules," she told him while pointing to the bathroom. He huffed and rolled his eyes, but dutifully made his way towards the shower.

One in the hastily-assembled series of rules they'd developed in the three weeks since Nadia was born was that they would never cuddle her if they hadn't showered from a mission or a fight. Natasha didn't want the scent of gunpowder and the feeling of dirt to be tied to their identities.

Steve showered quickly, barely toweled off, and only bothered to put on a pair of boxers before lying down on the other side of the baby. Once Natasha judged him clean, he placed a barely-there kiss on the top of the baby's head. She twitched at the contact, but didn't wake.

"That didn't take very long," Natasha whispered.

He shrugged. "They didn't really know what they were doing, mostly just trying to show off. But it was close to a convention center full of school kids for some science thing, so we got called in."

"Nice publicity."

"I'm sure it will be spun that way." He sighed. "I'm ready for you to come back. It's not the same without you."

Natasha looked down at her daughter. She was warned about desires to remain at home all day with the baby, and she could admit to feeling an inkling of that, but she wasn't cut out for the stay-at-home lifestyle. It would take some adjustment getting back to an active agent's routine, but Natasha was ready for the challenge. Once her body was back to normal, of course.

Despite regaining her pre-pregnancy physical appearance, her body hadn't forgotten what she'd gone through. She'd felt like she'd been hit by a truck during the first week, and her energy levels were still not at all what they used to be. Slowly, she was getting back to normal; she went to the gun range for the first time in months the night before and ran a whole two miles with Clint earlier that morning.

"Tony offered for everyone to come up for dinner and a movie tonight if, and I quote, 'it fit into Tsarina's schedule.'"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What time?"

"Dinner's at six. He promised to have the movie going by seven-thirty."

"We can give it a shot."

Steve nodded, remembering when they'd tried something similar the week before and had to leave early because Nadia was fussy and distracting people from the movie. Not that anyone really cared—even Tony's attitude was obviously superficial—but Natasha knew that wouldn't last.

As good as the men had been to their little… Family was still a bit of a frightening word, but although their fellow team members took turns bringing food and participating in the schedule for lunchtime cuddles, Natasha didn't want to push her luck. Unless the newborn decided to have another series of explosive diapers, and then the guys could come around all they wanted.

"So, did you just lay here and stare at her while I was out saving the world?" Steve asked.

"I'm not staring, I'm observing."

"She's not a mark."

"You're just jealous you didn't get to hang out with her this afternoon."

"Pretty much," he agreed. "Do you think you'll ever get tired of looking at her?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged. "I keep doing it hoping it will sink that she's mine."

"Hey," he breathed and waited for her to look at him. "She's not going to disappear. She's here, and she's ours."

She could almost believe his words, but not quite. And honestly, she didn't think she ever would, not completely. Parents, apparently, always had a fear that something bad would to happen to their child; Natasha just had a very specific idea of what could fall into the category of "something bad".

They fell back into silence, watching Nadia's chest rise and fall. The peace was enough to start to lull Natasha to sleep, a needed rest after her run with Clint that morning.

"Why this?" Steve asked. Her eyebrows drew together in a silent request for him to elaborate on his question. "I mean, my wish was pretty obvious—back in my old life with those people, getting to have a life with Peggy."

"Sorry you had to settle for me."

He shrugged. "I guess things worked out in the end, if only because you're still here when I wake up."

She smirked. "You know, if there wasn't a sleeping baby between us, I'd slug you."

He smiled easily back at her. "No, but seriously. How did Loki know? Did that antler helmet give him the ability to read our thoughts and we didn't know about it?"

Natasha looked back down at Nadia as she flashed back to that fateful afternoon where she'd extracted the demigod's plans from him while he was incarcerated in the helicarrier's Hulk holding cell. Used to be, she thought those few days comprised the most pivotal week in her life; now, that was no longer the case.

While her life had changed dramatically with the first assembling of the super heroes during the Battle of New York, it was nothing compared the last ten months of her life. The last three weeks alone of being a mother were full of experiences she never saw herself doing. Natasha never thought she would find such an interest in watching a newborn sleep, have such possessiveness over another's life, or feel a bit of peace in holding a tiny person against her chest.

"I told him," she said. "'Love is for children.'"


End file.
